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Sweet but forbidden—forbidden because 'tis sweet!
For salt and sour is mortal's proper meat,
Let but a grain of honey fall therein,
And straight the surly leech forbids us eat.
O tattered robe, and face with loving pale,
Pass me not by—I am the nightingale
That dares to sing of Riot and the Rose,
And, brother, I would give thee hand and hail.
But, sinner, there's one thing I want to hear,
O tell me, is your sinning quite sincere?
You would not leave it even though you could,
Say that you would not, O my brother dear.
Remember, all the pious who cry shame,
With holy horror, on your tattered fame,
Watch only for the opportunity
Of turned backs and the dark—to do the same.
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