A kindling glory shine from all about.
No whim of mine was this; it fills my creed;
The graft of all true love regenerates.
Those in whom love is born are born anew,
And all their family of fancies then
Bear family traits; those loving, and those not,
Being wide apart as rainbows and the rain.
I might be superstitious, but to me
The temple of my life’s experience
Had been less sacred, had it held no shrine