Forget the lore that I of grief have learned,
The lore sin red upon my soul has burned—
Tell me why should you worry lest I stay?
Surely you’ve heard when of blood tigers taste,
Not seas can keep them from it—mountain—waste!
XIII
They say that they who’ve sinned this sin of ours
May never after death know aught of light;
Naught can once cleanse their souls, nor make them white,
Nor Lydian scents make sweet the sin-stained hours.