Verse > Walt Whitman > Leaves of Grass
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Walt Whitman (1819–1892).  Leaves of Grass.  1900.

296. O Bitter Sprig! Confession Sprig!


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,         5
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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