The sun has spurge the season,
enchanters night the wormwood sky.
Your musk, your asarina joy,
your radiant woad, our honeysuckle tryst.

Will [bad word] again,
sweet as briar, rose-hipped?
Will [bad word] again,
rough as chervil, lining the lain? 

Will [bad word] again,
perfuse as cicely, spurge as teasel?
Will [bad word] again,
sharp as shedherd's needle?

Our fritillary love,
it's warp and weft our bindweed [bad word] 
Our wild garlic lust,
our foxglove [bad word]  your butterbur desire.

Will [bad word] again,
sorrel and bramble?
Will [bad word] again,
my winter aconite?
Will [bad word] again,
saxifrage and dittander?
Will [bad word] again,
my lily of the valley?
Will [bad word] again,
viper's grass and hawkweed?
Will [bad word] again,
my feverfew and tansy?
Will [bad word] again,
love's promise and betony desire?
Will [bad word] again,
enchanter's night, our honeysuckle tryst?