I will not leave anything 
So mean as a promise to you.
Nor with trifles, stand trembling
And suffer penance
Below your bastion box.

But I am now hard-put
And sweet meats the dearer to me for it.

The lamps in the parlour are doused;
She has emptied them of gas--
Critical, unforgiving crone!
And left me alone in the house. 
Does she mean this be for good?

She has called me “disgraced”
And thinks that her going 
Will “purge this taint”
From my soul.
But I shall go on as I have,
Doing the right things 
At the wrong time,
As is my genius,
Until the chloral takes me,
You forgive me,
Or night falls.