A Sonnet On Sin

Most times I do the things I know are wrongs Most times I cleave to deeds of scarlet night I bless and curse; these things I do in tongues Too dark and strange, I know not wrong from right. I call upon my tears to cloak my state They slowly heed but overflow in vain Thus sad, I wish upon a lock on Fate Thus sad, I wish upon this torrent's wane. As wolves in burning chase of gentle deers I scout the farthest corner-swamps to hide I'm hunted strong by stormy winds of fears Wherefore my breathing seeks a chaste-confide. The deeds I considered a harmless whole These deeds are melted- sharp and wound my soul.