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13.

1   O BITTER sprig! Confession sprig!

In the bouquet I give you place also—I bind you in,

Proceeding no further till, humbled publicly,

I give fair warning, once for all.

2   I own that I have been sly, thievish, mean, a prevari-          cator, greedy, derelict,

And I own that I remain so yet.

3   What foul thought but I think it—or have in me the          stuff out of which it is thought?

What in darkness in bed at night, alone or with a          companion?

4   You felons on trials in courts,

You convicts in prison cells—you sentenced assas-          sins, chained and handcuffed with iron,

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Who am I, that I am not on trial, or in prison?

Me, ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are          not chained with iron, or my ankles with iron?

5   You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs, or obscene          in your rooms,

Who am I, that I should call you more obscene than          myself?

6   O culpable! O traitor!

O I acknowledge—I exposé!

(O admirers! praise not me! compliment not me! you          make me wince,

I see what you do not—I know what you do not;)

Inside these breast-bones I lie smutch'd and choked,

Beneath this face that appears so impassive, hell's          tides continually run,

Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me,

I walk with delinquents with passionate love,

I feel I am of them—I belong to those convicts and          prostitutes myself,

And henceforth I will not deny them—for how can I          deny myself?

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