ASK not my pardon! For if one hath need br Once to forgive the god that he hath raised, br No further creed br Can that god give; but 'neath the soul who praised br Lies bruisèd like a reed. br br Let your dark plume, in passing leave a stain br On my plume's whiteness: call you bitter, sweet: br Give plague, or pain: br But cringe not, fallen and fawning at my feet, br By that to rise again. br br No! go your wild and mad way, and seem at least br The god you were . . .