"GOOD-BYE," I said to my conscience-- "Good-bye for aye and aye," And I put her hands off harshly, And turned my face away; And conscience smitten sorely Returned not from that day.
But a time came when my spirit Grew weary of its pace; And I cried: "Come back, my conscience; I long to see thy face." But conscience cried: "I cannot; Remorse sits in my place."
by Paul Lawrence Dunbar
and also this,
Remorse is memory awake, Her companies astir,— A presence of departed acts At window and at door.
Its past set down before the soul, And lighted with a match, Perusal to facilitate Of its condensed despatch.
Remorse is cureless,—the disease Not even God can heal; For ’t is His institution,— The complement of hell.
Simple and ordinary. Still outstanding. Means standing out. Free thinking and wannabe bohemian. Quite to the other side of reason....
And an artist by accident.....
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"GOOD-BYE," I said to my conscience--
"Good-bye for aye and aye,"
And I put her hands off harshly,
And turned my face away;
And conscience smitten sorely
Returned not from that day.
But a time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace;
And I cried: "Come back, my conscience;
I long to see thy face."
But conscience cried: "I cannot;
Remorse sits in my place."
by Paul Lawrence Dunbar
and also this,
Remorse is memory awake,
Her companies astir,—
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.
Its past set down before the soul, And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.
Remorse is cureless,—the disease
Not even God can heal;
For ’t is His institution,—
The complement of hell.
Emily Dickinson
So Death be to Remorse!
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