He rates me as the merchant does the wares
He will not purchase — " quality not high! —
'Twill lose its colour opened to the sun,
Has no aroma, and, in fine, is naught —
I barter not for such commodities —
There is no ratio betwixt sand and gems. "
'Tis wicked judgment! for the soul can grow,
As embryos, that live and move but blindly,
Burst from the dark, emerge regenerate,
And lead a life of vision and of choice.