Abelard to Heloise, 10

Say not for me those sacred vows you took,
And your vocation ruthlessly profane:
Such blasphemies God will not o'erlook,
Nor grant salvation till your passions wane.
Your constancy gives food to vain desires
And your affection adds to my offense;
You do but pour on recollection's fires
Destructive fuel, of tumultuous sense.
Convinced of sin, of sin I am not cured;
The mind repels it, but the heart invites.
Oh, give not then fresh woes to be endured,
By new recitals of our old delights!
I faint beneath the burdens that I bear,
Without the increased weight of your despair.
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