The wind comes blowing, light and free: In all the summer isles No laughing thing it found to see As brilliant as your smiles. The very Soul of Song, That lovely dream, made living truth, Oh, Lute-player, my Lute-player, Ah, dear and dark-eyed Lute-player, To reach, when evening cools the air, To see the palms, erect and slim, Against a golden sky, And hear, as twilight closes dim, Across your songs, my Lute-player, Each slender finger lightly slips, Ah, the soft radiance of eyes By love and music lit! What need of Heaven beyond the skies You make my Heaven, my Lute-player, And when the music waxes strong, I hear the sound of War, The winds that sigh, as if in pain, About forgotten graves, Oh, Lute-player, my Lute-player, The sightless sockets, whence the eyes, The forced caress, the purchased smile, Ah, break your melody awhile I sometimes think, my Lute-player, The sunset fires desert the West, Though Melody awake the morn, I kiss your hand the strings have worn I kiss your hand, my Lute-player, At twilight on this roof of ours, So lonely and so high, We catch the scent of all the flowers Sultan of Song, whose burning eyes Outblaze the stars above, Forget not, when the sunset dies You reign as Lord of Love! Ah, come to me, my Lute-player, Laurence Hope. |