Romance! Romance! Raw gold!
Merry-men, jesters, in a surging crowd
mingling with Holy Folk—
Miracles, shrines, and glorious, honest doubts—
raw gold, black, red,—
new thoughts breed sacraments—
white dreams and tawny sins—
the half-good, the half-bad—Humanity!
Groping humanity—
Who judges? How? Or why?