This surpasses the art to enunciate and goes beyond;
A feeling to pervade over, and suppress the verve of a free speech;
One word at mouth and the only left, the rest only to behold,
This word is sorry which I tremble and say, but still beseech:
I still beseech that forgiven be me
My juvenile deeds of kittenish way;
That my delicate heart would be happy and free,
And restore the love of every night and day.
I'm loathe to living if I must cause
Unrest and stress on a brother’s heart;
So I still beseech ere in Home I repose,
I be told it's love and nohow any hurt.
I'm sorry I say and repeat and again,
For a sin I sired and the good I mired;
Though the bond be broken, the pieces let’s relish to chain,
And I feel eternal I never will to beseech be tired.