I do not ask who you are, that is not important to me, You can do nothing and be nothing but what I will infold you.

To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean, On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear I never will deny him.

On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes, (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.)

To any one dying, thither I speed and twist the knob of the door, Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed, Let the physician and the priest go home.

I seize the descending man and raise him with resistless will, O despairer, here is my neck, By God, you shall not go down! hang your whole weight upon me.