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.