Passion Flowers (Watson)/A Confession
A Confession.
Say, what doth it profit, my soul, my soul,
That I weep and cry as I longing wait?
Alas! the most worthless of earthly things
Is repentance, my soul, when it comes too late.
That I weep and cry as I longing wait?
Alas! the most worthless of earthly things
Is repentance, my soul, when it comes too late.
I loved him? Yes, I will swear it now,
With a madness never confessed nor told;
I loved him, and yet for a triumph small,
His heart I broke—his honor I sold.
With a madness never confessed nor told;
I loved him, and yet for a triumph small,
His heart I broke—his honor I sold.
Could I draw near to his distant place,
Where he might know each passionate tear,
And the anguished cry of my tortured soul,
I would rend the heavens, but he should hear.
Where he might know each passionate tear,
And the anguished cry of my tortured soul,
I would rend the heavens, but he should hear.
"Oh! Love," I would cry; "Forgive, forgive!"
If he answered, then I could bear my fate;
But, ah! the most hopeless of earthly things
Is repentance, my soul, when it comes too late.
If he answered, then I could bear my fate;
But, ah! the most hopeless of earthly things
Is repentance, my soul, when it comes too late.