Classic Poem

CONFESSION

If faith most faithful, heart to guile unknown;
If Love's delicious languors, chastened thought;
If passion by the purer passions taught;
If labyrinthine wanderings, cold, alone;
If every pang upon the forehead flown
Like fire or faltered out in tones distraught
As shame or terror on my gray cheek wrought
Vermillion ravage with Love's blushes blown;
If than myself to hold one dearer far;
If still to weep, still burst the soul with sighs
Fostered in fever, fanned by Love's long war;
If burnt or frozen as Love stands or flies —
If I consume in this tumultuous raiment,
Yours is the crime, Milady, mine the payment.