If I gave you fields of clover, beds of flowers, pink and blue,
crowns of laurel, walls of ivy, would you let me walk with you?
If I gave you prides of lions, teams of horses, two by two,
and a school of flying fishes,
would you let me walk with you?
Would you let me dance with you?
A palace of jade, a cluster of pearls,
a shower of stars for your clothes.
But I have no prides of,
I have no prides of lions, and my pearls, alas, are few.
But for worlds of loving heartbeats, would you let me stay with you?
Love is a series of darlings and dearies,
of honeys and sweeties,
and sugared entreaties,
of moonings and swoonings,
and cooings and billings,
all tempered, of course, by occasional killings.