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| God gave you words, so you must give them to me. | |
| Let me lie here on the ground | |
| Breaking brittle pine-needles with my fingers. | |
| You have no right to keep a gift— | |
| God gave you words, so you must give them to me. | 5 |
| |
| YOUR words are perfect things— | |
| They are birds with full smooth breasts. | |
| That fly in wide clean skies | |
| And sleep in warm brown nests. | |
| |
| Your words are little globes | 10 |
| Of glass, or ruby-flake; | |
| They tinkle in the air | |
| And whisper as they break. | |
| |
| Your words are little ships | |
| With silver shining sails, | 15 |
| That sing against the winds | |
| Like purple nightingales. | |
| |
| Your words are colored fruits | |
| In crystal jars, and tall. | |
| You break them with your lips; | 20 |
| I catch them as they fall. | |
| |
| So give me your words. Let them slip | |
| Cool fingers through my hair. | |
| There is no world but me, no heaven but you … | |
| Somewhere outside of these there may be birds, | 25 |
| And fruit, and ships, and little crystal globes. | |
| |
| For me there are only your words … | |
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