In your constancy to sin you far exceed my power,
  Since that day marked with blackness from other days—­
The day before your marriage—­never since that hour
  Have I heard his voice, have I looked upon his face;
For I threw his gold at his feet and stole away
  Anywhere—­anywhere—­only out of his sight,
Longing to hide from the mocking glare of the day,
  Longing to cover my eyes forever away from the light.

And long I strove to hate him, for I thought
  I was so young, a friendless orphan left to his care,
It was a terrible sin that he had wrought,
  And since I had the burden of guilt to bear
It was enough without the wild despair of love,
  So I strove to reason my passionate love to hate. 
Can we kneel with tears and bid the strong sun move
  Away from the sky?  It is vain to war with fate.

That a hard life I have lived since then, ’tis true,
  My hands are unblackened by sinful wages since that day,
And my baby died, I was not fit, God knew
  To guide a sinless soul, so He took my bird away;
And my heart was empty and lone as a robin’s winter nest,
  With the trusting eyes that never looked scornfully,
The head that nestled fearlessly on my guilty breast,
  And the little constant hands that clung to me, even me.

But I knew it were best for God to unclasp her hand
  From mine, while yet she clung to it in trust,
Than for her to draw it from me, live to understand,
  Blush for her mother—­had she lived she must. 
And then she had her father’s smile, and his soft, dark eyes,
  Maybe she would have had his fair, false ways—­his heart. 
It is well that she passed through the starry gate of the skies
  Though it closed and bars us forever and ever apart.

For I am a sinful woman, well I know,
  And though by others’ sins my own are not excused
Things seem so strange to me in this strange world of woe,
  In a maze of doubt and wonder I get confused;
Whether a sin of impulse, born of a fatal love,
  Is worse than deliberate bargain, a life of legal shame,
Legal below, I think in the courts above
  The heavenly scribes will call a crime by its right name.

But we stand before the wise, wise judgment-seat
  Of the world, and it calls you pure,
That in your pearl-gemmed breast all saintly virtues meet,
  Holier than other holy women, higher, truer,
So sweet a creature an angel in woman’s guise. 
  They would not wonder much, though much they might admire,
Should you be caught again up to your native skies
  From an alien world in a chariot of fire.

So we stand before the tender judgment-seat
  Of the world, and it calls me vile,
So low that it is a wonder God will let
  His joyous sunshine gild my guilty head with its smiles,
An outcast barred beyond the pale of hope,
  Beyond the lamp of their mercy’s flickering light,
They would scarcely wonder if the earth should ope
  And swallow up the wretch from their vexed sight.