There's a fire that in us breathes
Harmoniously with all our faults.
A slight whisper of wrong-doing
And it occupies our thoughts.
Never to leave, never to budge,
Its sound is bitter consequence
It makes rotten our very soul
Its awful name is Conscience.
It sings its dread song in our ears,
It never stops through day or night,
It conquers everything in us
And leaves not until all is right.
They punish every wrong done, so
May consciences e'er dwell in men
May they never let us free
Nor let us e'er sin again.
2. On Love
Love is a confounding thing
Which simple, humble men befalls.
It is a most forbidden sin
That blinds men when they in it fall.
"'Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all?"
I have experienced love, my dears
And my answer? not at all.
To never love but keep the hope
Of loving once forever more
Is simpler than having a love
Feebler than one you've had before.
The consequence of this great sin
Is a lost heart and all within.
Adonis
