I don't know what to do with your love,Plant it somewhere where the grassMeetsThe earth until it breaks into a run,Maby?Until it arrives in our back yard with dewDropsFalling on to the porch as though they wereTearsInstead of rainDo I feed it? Treat it hungry?Do I can it your name?
I knew a bot who liked to drawHe drew pictures that nobody sawBe was most artistic late at nightIn the bathroom and out sightHe kept a secret that no one knewhe didn't tell a soul and his gallery grewHis drawings were sident no paper or penBut he needed a bandage now and againWe stood by the river under the statsHe rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scarsHe felt embarrassed and liked down at his shoeThen I rolled up my sleeves and whispered 'I draw too.'
When I behold a forest spreadWith silken trees upon thy head;And when I see that other dressOf flowers set in comeliness;When I behold another graceIn the ascent of curious lace,Which, like a pinnacle, doth shewThe top, and the top-gallant too;Then, when I see thy tresses boundInto an oval, square, or round,And knit in knots far more than I.Can tell by tongue, or True-love tie;Next, when those lawny films I seePlay with a wild civility;And all those airy silks to flow,
Sweet serene sky-like flower,Haste to adorn her bower;From thy long cloudy bedShoot forth thy damask head!New-startled blush of Flora,The grief of pale Aurora,Who will contest no more,Haste, haste to strew her floor!Vermilion ball that's givenFrom lip to lip in heaven,Love's couch's coverlet,Haste, haste to make her bed!Dear offspring of pleased VenusAnd jolly plump Silenus,Haste, haste to deck the hairOf the only sweetly fair!