And I love every thing, save sin. Thank God!
That thing I do not love. I have been bathed,
With reverence let me utter it, in blood
Which hath a power to make the foulest clean;
And though I need to wash me every day
In that exhaustless fountain, from the stains
Which will on earth my struggling soul defile,
Still, still, I love not sin—my taste is changed.
But that aside, I do love every thing;
And this, sweet friends! is to be rich indeed;