Think of you? Who thinks of you?
I haven’t got the time.
You’re in my dreams, imaginings;
To think would be a crime.
Right now it is just four a.m.
It’s seven over there.
And I don’t think one thought of you;
I’m picturing your hair.
Then, oh, your face comes in to me,
So sweet and fair and true,
And I know I am wholly, dear,
A soul in love with you.
Now I remember what you said,
“Don’t think of me too much.”
And I obey, my lovely one,
I picture four lips’ touch.
I do not think of you at all,
No logic moves my mind;
The syllogism, it must fall
To dreams that wind and bind.
And wound are you within my heart,
And bound to me are you,
And thought, it has no chance to start,
There’s naught for thought to do.
My arms do ache, my hands, they burn,
To reach you, find you, touch;
But see, I do not think of you,
At least, not you’re “too much.”
Ah, now you’re happy, I can tell,
That I don’t spend my time
On thinking, thinking, thinking you,
For dreams are more sublime!
Your smile begins, your eyes do shine;
You think of me—Don’t do it much!
Remember that advice of thine,
And only dream our lips do touch.