Classic Poem

Phyllis hath the strangest way
When from rectitude I stray
Into some by-path of sin
Of bestowing discipline.

Not a syllable of blame!
Not a scorching glance of flame!
Not a word, and not a look
Comes to summon me to book—

But, alas—oh, how it burns!—
Straight to otherward she turns,
And for all that I can see
Never seems aware of me.

It is quite as though I were
In a world apart from her;
On some planet void of mirth
Countless leagues away from earth.

Or as if—if there at all—
I were such an atom small
That nobody'd be aware
Of the fact that I was there.

Then, when I wax penitent,
'Neath this lashing punishment,
Her forgiveness is so sweet
That my lapse I oft repeat!

'Tis so blissful being shriven
That I sin to be forgiven!