The wonderful sweetness
Of the violin floats down
The hushed waters of dreams
The heart strings of the harp begin
To long in aching
Music spirit pined
In wafts that poignant
Sweetness drifts
Until the wounded soul oozes sadness
The red sun a bubble of fire
Drops slowely toward the hill
While one bird prattles
That the day is done
Oh setting sun that as
In reverend days
Sinkest in music
To thy smoothed sleep
Oh setting sun that as
In reverend days
Sinkest in music
To thy smoothed sleep
Discrowned of homage
Though yet crowned with rays
Hymned not at harvest more
Yet in this field
Where the cross planted reigns
I know not
What strange passion bows my head
To thee whose greate
Command upon my vains
Proves thee a god for me
Not dead
Oh setting sun that as
In reverend days
Sinkest in music
To thy smoothed sleep
Discrowned of homage
Though yet crowned with rays
Hymned not at harvest more
Yet in this field
Where the cross planted reigns
I know not
What strange passion bows my head
To thee whose greate
Command upon my vains
Proves thee a god for me
Not dead