If you were a thistle and I were a whistle,

And we both floated in air;

If you were a tough old greengage plum

And I were a princkly pear;

If you were a bat and I were a cat

And we both roamed in the night;

If you were a brownie dressed in brown,

And I were a ghost gray-white;

If you were a weed and I were a seed,

And we both lay deep in the ground;

If you were a kite all tattered and torn

And I were a horn without sound—

If we were any or all of these things,

I’d never regret or whine,

But still I’d want you, my own dear friend,

To be my valentine.