Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you/ That you may be my poem/ I whisper with my lips close to your ear/ I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you.

O lands! O all so dear to me - what you are, I become part of that, whatever it is.

You have not known what you are - you have slumber'd upon yourself all your life; Your eye-lids have been the same as closed most of the time; What you have done returns already in mockeries; Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in mockeries, what is their return? The mockeries are not you; Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk.

The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections.

I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower.

We were together. I forget the rest.

Charity and personal force are the only investments worth anything.