The sightless sockets, whence the eyes,
Were wrenched or burnt away,
The mangled form that e'er it dies,
Becomes the jackals' prey,
The forced caress, the purchased smile,
Ere youth be yet awake,—
Ah, break your melody awhile
Or else my heart will break!
I sometimes think, my Lute player,
You wish my heart to break!
The sunset fires desert the West,
The stars invade the sky,
Lover of mine, 'tis time to rest
And let the music die.
Though Melody awake the morn,
Yet Love should end the day.
I kiss your hand the strings have worn
And take your lute away.
I kiss your hand, my Lute player,
And take the Lute away.
At twilight on this roof of ours,
So lonely and so high,
We catch the scent of all the flowers
Ascending to the sky.
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,
Lover, and Lord of Love!
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