Ah! That Love would'st lead me Down these garden paths in May Entwining fingers passing 'Tween hazy fleurs flourishing On a blurred and xanthene day. Yet rather than that lovely visage I've been gone and lead astray; Afore these hours waking I've no gentle whispers speaking Save my heart, in sad dismay. Ah! That Love would keep me From Her torturing wing of thorns- And the silent, fevered shadow 'Neath her brilliant-seeming halo, Viewed solely by a love forlorn. And would that I could leave him! He, whose tone has pierced me through; Clad in white and softly smiling, With my tender heart left writhing, As these shameless tears renew. Ah! That Love would'st lead me Toward His wond'rous arms outspread- But alas; this springtide's turned, And this lovely May's adjourned With December in its stead.