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.