Strange that a love supreme
Should be swayed by a petty pride,
As a straw might turn aside
The swift onflowing tide
Of a mighty seaward stream!
I know that the fault was mine,
But I cannot, will not speak;
How should I, suppliant, meek,
His gracious pardon seek —
Tho’ the fault were mine — all mine?
Aye, tho’ my heart should break,
Something — or pride or shame —
Forbids me that I should claim
As mine the fault, the blame —
Aye, tho’ my heart should break!