Abelard to Heloise, 12

You call me Father; I was parricide:
You call me Master; it was sin I taught:
You call me Husband, yet you were my bride
But after blight and ruin had been wrought.
Blot out those words, and substitute instead,
The darkest titles wounded pride can name.
Through me your honor and your peace lie dead;
I took your virtue, and I gave you shame.
Not we alone in passion's pit were hurled;
Because we failed, shall other lives be weak?
Our follies have set standards for the world;
Of our wild amours shall the centuries speak.
For my salvation let your tears be spent;
Advance in virtue, and repent! repent!
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