I have heen false for thy repose alone,
And the sweet cause half pardoned the offense,
Even in the judgment of omnipotence,
And made me smile where I might aptly groan.
Mark me again! The grave defect I own,
Or boast it rather; making no pretense
To mitigate my fault in any sense,
At least to thee, by whom my heart is known.
What other sin is waiting for my hand,
To make our love more secret and secure,
Against the time his threatened throne may stand?
Name it, Beloved! I tarry thy command.
What shall I do, or what shall I endure?
Where on my soul shall shame let fall its brand?