Like skipping lines to land on squares.
So come, you’ll do it, too. We’ll sweep
Along the Boston streets, no cares,
Your hand in mine, a late May day,
All final tests passed for a time—
A season more. So come and play,
And just for fun, we’ll make a rhyme!
We’ll cross the Common, ducks unstressed
In strict parade, though lovers clutch.
But stressed, unstressed, we want no rest;
Life’s beat entrains us overmuch.
Insidious intent may stalk
Through streets of Beacon Hill, tonight,
And hey, the Tambourine Man walk
Into the jingle-jangle light.
But we shall keep a perfect beat,
It matters not uphill or down,
If all the turnings of the street
But end at dawn in Boston town.
So kiss me, dear; this is the time
That comes but once in any song;
Come meet my lips in perfect rhyme
As lovers have the ages long.