Poetry Archives

“Good-bye,” I said to my conscience—
  “Good-bye for aye and aye,”
And I put her hands off harshly,
  And turned my face away;
And conscience smitten sorely
  Returned not from that day.

But a time came when my spirit
  Grew weary of its pace;
And I cried: “Come back, my conscience;
  I long to see thy face.”
But conscience cried: “I cannot;
  Remorse sits in my place.”