O Bitter Sprig! Confession Sprig!

Walt Whitman

   O BITTER sprig! Confession sprig!
   In the bouquet I give you place also--I bind you in,
   Proceeding no further till, humbled publicly,
   I give fair warning, once for all.

   I own that I have been sly, thievish, mean, a prevaricator, greedy,
         derelict,
   And I own that I remain so yet.

   What foul thought but I think it--or have in me the stuff out of
         which it is thought?
   What in darkness in bed at night, alone or with a companion?

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