Beauty, midnight, vision dies: Let the winds of dawn that blow Softly round your dreaming head Such a day of welcome show Eye and knocking heart may bless, Find our mortal world enough; Noons of dryness find you fed By the involuntary powers, Nights of insult let you pass Watched by every human love.

Like love we don't know where or why Like love we cant compel or fly Like Love we often weep Like Love we seldom keep

You shall love your crooked neighbour, with your crooked heart.

To save your world you asked this man to die; would this man, could he see you now, ask why?

Those who will not reason, perish in the act. Those who will not act, perish for that reason.

To have a sense of sin means to feel guilty at there being an ethical choice to make, a guilt which, however "good" I may become, remains unchanged.

God may reduce you on Judgment Day to tears of shame, reciting by heart the poems you would have written, had your life been good.