Sweet Cynthia

Sweet Cynthia, if all eyes were to be oval, And strands of stranded hair become vocal Or all lips become black like my knee, I'd equate them all to this beauty I see. If ever I had to pay in kind, Wouldn't your eyes be more refined Than the blue diamond, and fearless? Wouldn't nature be as patient as it is sleepless? You have been so unfair to flowers Whose early morning beauty withers And is no match to your presence Or to the ordinary casual frown on your face. When out to the open we came With our love's feet sore and lame I alone was singled out Whereby came the moan and the shout And my misery abound, that crazy sound; That wandering restlessness, that ugly rebound That weighs heavily on my shoulder And makes me weary and somewhat sober. Should the brightest star fall today at your feet Cynthia, it signals the fall of one of my teeth. If a strand of your hair falls any day It means one of mine has no place to stay. ...to a friend like no other