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."