Any nose may ravage with impunity a rose.
Kiss me as if you made believe You were not sure this eve, How my face, your flower, had pursed It's petals up.
It was roses, roses, all the way, With myrtle mixed in my path like mad.
Still more labyrinthine buds the rose.
The curious crime, the fine Felicity and flower of wickedness.
And let them pass, as they will too soon, With the bean-flowers' boon, And the blackbird's tune, And May, and June!
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