Song #3

I peeled bits of straws and I got switches too From the grey peeling willow as idlers do, And I switched at the flies as I sat all alone Till my flesh, blood, and marrow was turned to dry bone. My illness was love, though I knew not the smart, But the beauty of love was the blood of my heart. Crowded places, I shunned them as noises too rude And fled to the silence of sweet solitude. Where the flower in green darkness buds, blossoms, and fades, Unseen of all shepherds and flower-loving maids-- The hermit bees find them but once and away. There I'll bury alive and in silence decay. I looked on the eyes of fair woman too long, Till silence and shame stole the use of my tongue: When I tried to speak to her I'd nothing to say, So I turned myself round and she wandered away. When she got too far off, why, I'd something to tell, So I sent sighs behind her and walked to my cell. Willow switches I broke and peeled bits of straws, Ever lonely in crowds, in Nature's own laws-- My ball room the pasture, my music the bees, My drink was the fountain, my church the tall trees. Who ever would love or be tied to a wife When it makes a man mad all the days of his life?