May-be one is now reading this who knows some wrong-doing of my past life, Or may-be a stranger is reading this who has secretly loved me, Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions and egotisms with derision, Or may-be one who is puzzled at me.
As if I were not puzzled at myself! Or as if I never deride myself! (O conscience-struck! O self-convicted!) Or as if I do not secretly love strangers! (O tenderly, a long time, and never avow it;) Or as if I did not see, perfectly well, interior in myself, the stuff of wrong-doing, Or as if it could cease transpiring from me until it must cease.
