| A sweet disorder in the dress | |
| Kindless in clothes a wantonness | |
| A lawn about the shoulders thrown | |
| Into a fine distraction | |
| An erring lace which here and there | |
| Enthralls the crimson stomacher | |
| I'm crying here | |
| Would you ever come with me | |
| Never let me infiltrate what I call free | |
| And not expecting pardon | |
| Hardened in heard anew | |
| Thunder and rain with you | |
| And grateful too | |
| My reality for you | |
| Could be quenched simply by returning | |
| To those shores where I might hear your voice | |
| My reality for you | |
| Could be quenched simply by returning | |
| To those shores where I might hear your voice | |
| In a cantilena of blue | |
| A sweet disorder in the dress | |
| Kindless in clothes a wantonness | |
| A lawn about the shoulders thrown | |
| Into a fine distraction |
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