Fair fresh leaves and buds – and buds!

He sits down with his back against a tree.

Perhaps, perhaps, I will go and see – if he wants me – in the morning.

He stares at me,

The terrible, tender beauty of he.

He stares at me, and says quietly,

"It's a wild, dreary place, my mind.

Everyone sees its deformity.

But you, do you still want me?"

"I have to do what you please, sir," I breathe.

He smiles and whispers quietly,

"I know. That's why I called you to me.

You stare at me so curiously."

He stares at me,

And I to he,

And the fair fresh leaves and buds – and buds!

He sits down with his back against a tree.

"You do cheer me up," he says to me.