This is the horror that, night after night,
Sits grinning on my pillow -- that I meant
To mix the peace of being innocent
With the warm thrill of seeking out delight:
This is the final blasphemy, the blight
On all pure purpose and divine intent --
To dress the selfish thought, the indolent,
In the priest's sable or the angel's white.

For God's sake, if you sin, take pleasure in it,
And do it for the pleasure. Do not say:
'Behold the spirit's liberty! -- a minute
Will see the earthly vesture break away
And God shine through.' Say: 'Here's a sin -- I'll sin it;
And there's the price of sinning -- and I'll pay.'