 | New songs of innocence |  |
85
THE WANING MOON.
It's a cold clear winter morning,
The sky is frosty blue,
The round red sun is scorning
The world he looks into.
Like a haughty Turk he rises,
Aroused from his rest too soon,
And in revelry surprises
His prisoner, the moon!
The sky is frosty blue,
The round red sun is scorning
The world he looks into.
Like a haughty Turk he rises,
Aroused from his rest too soon,
And in revelry surprises
His prisoner, the moon!
Behold her, shrinking pallid
Before his angry gaze,
Sense nor assurance rallied
To justify her ways!
And how can she escape there?
That sky, so frosty blue,
If it would only gape there
And let the lady through!
Before his angry gaze,
Sense nor assurance rallied
To justify her ways!
And how can she escape there?
That sky, so frosty blue,
If it would only gape there
And let the lady through!
Alas, the helpless lady!
My boys, what will you dare
For poor Scheherazadé,
Who greets you, smiling fair,
With pleasant stories nightly?
Or must she perish so?
Perhaps if you ask rightly
The sun will let her go!
My boys, what will you dare
For poor Scheherazadé,
Who greets you, smiling fair,
With pleasant stories nightly?
Or must she perish so?
Perhaps if you ask rightly
The sun will let her go!
| New songs of innocence | |