Of that I must be shriven

I love the way Richard Wilbur gets to the heart of things. 

A Reckoning

At my age, one begins

To chalk up all his sins,

Hoping to wipe the slate

Before it is too late.

Therefore I call to mind

All memories of the kind

That make me wince and sweat

And tremble with regret.

What do these prove to be?

In every one, I see

Shocked faces that, alas,

Now know me for an ass.

Fatuities that I

Have uttered, drunk or dry,

Return now in a rush

And make my old cheek blush.

But how can I repent

From mere embarrassment?

Damn-foolishness can’t well

Entitle me to Hell.

Well, I shall put the blame

On the pride that’s in my shame.

Of that I must be shriven

If I’m to be forgiven.

--Richard Wilbur