The music, the dance, and a stolen glance,
A song like the night bird's cry;
The warmth of your white hand at my cheek,
The devil-may-care in your eye,
Ane the couples swaying to right and left,
What matter to you and I?
'Tis a song that's made like a curved blade,
With a hilt where bright gems gleam,
A wierd refrain of valor'us deeds
That are not what they seem,
And an ending not that seems to be
A phantom's eerie scream.
A song of fire and heart's desire
That kindled a flame in me,
And left in its wake but wind-swept ash
And a haunting memory
Of your hair, your eyes, your flashing smile,
And love's futility.