Had turned at the touch of thy grace and glory
From the average pathways trodden by me.
Hadst thou been kinder or I been stronger
It may be even these things had been—
But one thing is clear to my soul for ever,
I owe my owning of thee to sin.
Had I been colder I had not reached thee,
Besmirched the ermine, beflecked the snow—
It was only sheer and desperate passion
That won thy beauty in years ago.