A SONG lies buried in my soul,
Its melody is silent there,
The glory of it I would roll
In ecstasy, if thou would’st care
To hear its sweet enchanting strain,
In some deep garden where the hills
Would echo its subdued refrain,
Where fragrance every cloister fills,
Where flowery carpets spread, for thee,
Of velvet petals of the rose,
Is where the song will flow from me
Into the heart thy lover knows.
My precious love, my one delight,
Thou art more fair than that first dawn
Which made the new-born world so bright;
When primal dews spread o’er the lawn
And grass held jewels in its sheath,
Where earth’s first flowers were kissed by day.
More fair, art thou, than Ceres’ wreath
For tender maidens crowned with May.
A song for thee, and thee alone,
No other ear shall know its theme;
My eastern pearl of rarest tone,
It is the music of a dream;
A dream of gushing, surging love
From never-saving, endless springs,
Down deep, as heaven is high above;
Its course, as wide as Cosmos flings
The starry gems which light the skies,
When nightingales pour out their song;
As soft as joy in lover’s eyes,
In climes, where nights of love are long.