I HAVE paid well for every sin And blotted out the score; So great I made my punishment -- Not God could make it more. But these no man calls sin -- too small For penance or regret -- The tardy thought, the careless kiss, The groping hand unmet. The sorrow that I left unsoothed, The word I left unsaid, -- Ah me! I know what ghosts must stand About my dying bed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA TWELVE SONNETS: 4. LONELY SEASONS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: SLEEPER'S COUNTENANCE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |