How is it that you live, and what is it you do?
The very flowers are sacred to the poor.
I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
A deep distress has humanised my soul.
And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw.