Your air, your bearing and your grace
Are scenic wonders on display,
And laughter has a lovely way
Of playing havoc with your face.
Infected by your radiance,
The melancholy passer-by
Lifts up his head to catch your eye ---
a brief and private audience.
The startling costumes you prefer,
The gypsy wit of your attire
Could set a poet's heart on fire,
Image of a ballet of flowers.
Those motley gowns are emblems of
A madcap soul's vitality;
But I am the fool, for I can be
A fool for hate as well as love.
Ironically, when most depressed,
I've dragged myself through burgeoning
Green gardens overcome with spring,
Where sunlight lacerates my breast;
When all that young luxuriance
Half mocked and half rebuked my woes,
I had to desecrate a rose
To punish Nature's insolence.
And I'd crawl, quiet as a worm,
When midnight sounds and everywhere,
The cyies of lovers fill the air
To spy upon your sleeping form,
Degrace your innocence a bit,
Till that proud flesh be mortified,
Then down your unsuspecting side
I'd carve a deep and bloody slit,
And by that virgin orifice,
I would inject in you, sweet dream,
My venom, in an endless dream,
But with exquisite tenderness!