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I'd like to add a short poem to our discussion about religion, we had with Diana, Lorette and Graham on Fri TGIF in Rosengarten. We found that everybody could/should begin at oneself and this poem expresses this too in this way:
Wenn ich wirklich höre, werde ich berührt, Wenn ich wirklich schaue, ändert sich mein Blick, Wenn ich wirklich gehe, atme ich das Leben, Wenn ich wirlich LASSE, wird Verwandlung sein.
Sonnet XLIII (counted as the most beautiful poem ever) How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with a passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Sonnet XLIV (read by Helena) Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden, all the summer through, And winter, and it seemed as if they grew In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers. So, in the like name of that love of ours, Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too, And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue, And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine, Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.