Confessional

Now that I kneel at the throne, O Queen, Pity and pardon me. Much have I striven to sing the same, Brother of beast and tree; Yet when the stars catch me alone Never a linnet sings-- And the blood of a man is a bitter voice And cries for foolish things.

Not for me be the vaunt of woe; Was not I from a boy Vowed with the helmet and spear and spur To the blood-red banner of joy? A man may sing his psalms to a stone, Pour his blood for a weed, But the tears of a man are a sudden thing, And come not of his creed.

Nay, but the earth is kind to me, Though I cry for a Star, Leaves and grasses, feather and flower, Cover the foolish scar, Prophets and saints and seraphim Lighten the load with song, And the heart of a man is a heavy load For a man to bear along.