Is there no easier path to heaven?
Santa Maria! how can I tell
What, now for a score of years and more,
I've buried away in my heart so deep
That, howso tired I've been, I've kept
Eyes waking when near me another slept,
Lest I might mutter it in my sleep?
And now at the last to blab it clear!
How the women will shrink from my pictures! And worse
Will the men do—spit on my name, and curse;