The very flowers are sacred to the poor.

What we have loved Others will love And we will teach them how.

But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?

A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.

A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light

A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.