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 Sweet but forbidden—forbidden because 'tis sweet!

For salt and sour is mortal's proper meat,

Let but a grain of honey fall therein,

And straight the surly leech forbids us eat.

O tattered robe, and face with loving pale,

Pass me not by—I am the nightingale

That dares to sing of Riot and the Rose,

And, brother, I would give thee hand and hail.

But, sinner, there's one thing I want to hear,

O tell me, is your sinning quite sincere?

You would not leave it even though you could,

Say that you would not, O my brother dear.

Remember, all the pious who cry shame,

With holy horror, on your tattered fame,

Watch only for the opportunity

Of turned backs and the dark—to do the same.