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Updated: June 23, 2025
"When my soul boiled within me when 'to die' Was all my prayer and death was sweetness, yea, Had they but stoned me like a dog, I'd blessed them; Then no man rose against me but when time Brought its slow comfort when my wounds were scarred All my griefs mellow'd, and remorse itself Judged my self-penance mightier than my sins, Thebes thrust me from her breast, and they, my sons, My blood, mine offspring, from their father shrunk: A word of theirs had saved me one small word They said it not and lo! the wandering beggar!"
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