I saw your reddened sword and bleeding thigh:
The punishment of flesh by fervent youth.
I understood at once the reason why:
You saw your flaw, and tremble at the truth.
I cannot tell you that there was no sin;
I cannot say that you were not to blame.
Although you did not end, you did begin,
And fear you may repeat it, to your shame.
No comfort that I love you nonetheless.
I have no skill to beautify with lies,
Nor justify the sins you must confess,
Nor wipe the painful knowledge from your eyes,
But I can wash the blood from sword and knight
And wrap your self-inflicted wound in white.
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