It were not I am innocent,
        And yet my heart is pure,
For it were to my detriment
        To fall to the allure
Of other, yet it must be rent,
        The curtain which obscure.

It were behind a kind of lust
        And kind of rancid spur,
Yet did I have a joy robust
        So with it I’d concur,
And—be the matter just, unjust--
        But take it as it were.

It were not as demand consent
        But by the will of God,
Yet on such pastime I relent
        That lonely ways have trod,
The glass shard pathways penitent
        I cross with feet unshod.