Through, ah, how many hours of wistful strife
With you, who guessed not, even, the tender struggle rife
Between us. When I met you with a smile,
"Love's not for me," you thought, "yet while she kindly
Still looks and speaks, I'll stay." And went thus blindly
Taking for innocence what sprang from guile
That I might hold you by me just a little while.
The day I dropped a flower upon the path,
Did you not know it was the thing I aimed for
When you behind me loitered (somewhat lamed for