Love, ere I go, forgive me each least wrong, <br />Each trouble I unwittingly have wrought. <br />My heart, my life, my tears to thee belong; <br />Yet have I erred, maybe, through too fond thought. <br />One sin, most certainly, I need to atone: <br />The sin of loving thee while yet unwooed. <br />Mine only was this wrong, this guilt alone. <br />The woman tempted thee from ways of good. <br />Forgive me too, ere thy dear pity cease, <br />That I denied thee, vexed thee with delay, <br />Sought my soul's coward shelter, not thy peace, <br />And having won thee still awhile said nay. <br />Forgive me this, that I too soon, too late, <br />Too wholly gave a love disconsolate.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-woman-s-sonnets-x/
