I swear to you, there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell

Women sit or move to and fro, some old, some young, / The young are beautiful--but the old are more beautiful than the young.

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

I am larger, better than I thought; I did not know I held so much goodness.

In the confusion we stay with each other, happy to be together, speaking without uttering a single word.

Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.

I will write the evangel-poem of comrades and of love.