What is it in nature which lend sits hand To the tongues of young wondering lovers in flight That by the silent boot of a dying word A scythe was taught to moan and to write What is it that is left for the blushing cheek To blink the lips of a blooming rose When lovers' eyes as black as summer crows Picked the blackened rose that they seeked What has not been taken by a lover's greed What then from all the vine and seed On the fragrant air of spring they feed They come in swarms of two like me and you Fattened by the love that they need What has not been taken by a lvoer's green On and on they come Forever saying I would die witohut you in the chasm of these eyes Nothing satisfies Staring into the starry-eyed infinite Can't get enough of it Can't get enough Why is it then my pen should stall? When by your wondous eyes I shake When we, this world is ours to take What has not been taken by a lover's greed