Sympathy

Therefore I dare reveal my private woe,

The secret blots of my imperfect heart,

Nor strive to shrink or swell mine own desert,

Nor beautify nor hide.

For this I know,

That even as I am, thou also art.

Thou past heroic forms unmoved shalt go,

To pause and bide with me, to whisper low: "Not I alone am weak, not I apart Must suffer, struggle, conquer day by day.

Here is my very cross by strangers borne,

Here is my bosom-sin wherefrom I pray Hourly deliverance—this my rose, my thorn.

This woman my soul's need can understand,

Stretching o'er silent gulfs her sister hand."