Who may despise the fallen? Not the soul
Unproved, outside the warrior fellowship,
But some pale Michael whom the devil's grip
Had all but ravished of his aureole.

Are such the scorners? Ah, not they, who know
The stealthy lures of evil, how the weight
Of opportunity confederate
With passion presses to the overthrow.

For sweet Saint Charity is not as one
Whose lily paces print the garden way
Of youth and innocence. Her hair is gray;
There is no sinner she is fit to shun.