The jasper gates that shut us so far apart;
With his father’s tender ways he will never win
Some woman’s love, only to break her heart.
But it is this wife, with her beauty and subtle art;
I like to think it is she who has poisoned his mind
Against me, for he had an affectionate heart
Before he became a saint; he was very gentle and kind.
If I thought he would change, would come to me at last
And say: “Oh love, forgive me that my weak heart roved;”
Forgive! Oh, in my happy tears I would wash out the past,