LXXI

I am ashamed through this thick husk of clay,
The passion quivers to my secret soul,
Waking the latent virtues that control
The pure of heart upon their shining way.
I am ashamed that I thus, day by day,
Deface her virgin temple, foully roll
In orgies that pollute the sacred bowl,
Merely because she will not say me nay.
Oh! I abuse the pledges of my trust
To put her beauty to so base a use,
With no more right than that outworn excuse.
Think what heaven bears from our rebellious dust;
How sin is licensed, and how crime is loose,
While in God's patient hands his arrows rust!