Let us sit by the river.
A long time ago
You were the cool trickling
You lived in yourself as the fishes and plants
Swimming and swaying.
Birds and deer drank from you.
Leaves fell into you.
You were the vigor of the current.
During the day you reflected the sun
at night, the sparkling stars.
These rocks on which we sit,
You unearthed them
And shaped them.
But that was a long time ago,
When you knew who you are.
Was it only a dream
That we should be?
In sorrow we forget;
In joy we remember
That indeed it is a dream.
But not merely,
Not of slumber.
A ballad sung
Here among the snowy pines
On the lap of a mountain
It echoes clumsily
Among the valley folk
Of the struggle
To turn an unconscious dream
Into a conscious dream.
Dusk approaches,
And I go to my cell
To sit very still
And remember!
Should I tell her who she is
And ruin your surprise?
How long did you want her to forget
Who her father is
And ahh, her mother too?
I have kept my promise to serve.
But I can no longer look upon her and pretend
That her rags and fetters are real.
Even if I keep silent, my eyes reveal.
Shall I make it subtle
Or shall I be quick?
Will she believe?
Or run away thinking I am mad?
Who her father is
And ahh, her mother too!
Did you cause this meeting
Only so I should betray you,
And reveal to her that she is
A lady of the most noble birth.
Silent eyes,
Look into my own,
Partched and colorless.
Silent eyes,
Where have you been
After the day your tears
Brought me life
And the waters flowed again?
Each night I lower cupped hands
Into my reservoir
And pour it’s life
At the place you were.
But I have poured my last,
And now sit motionless
As before,
Save for my rememberance of you.
Silent eyes,
I no longer ask for life.
Break your vow of silence
And stay.
Oh the drums are so mournful my dear oh my love
As my thoughts they are turning your way.
Where are the eyes I beheld with my own
On that long-ago lazy day.
Dead are the deeds on the stark battlefield.
The stench of the flesh sickens me.
I slept soaking wet and the worms ate my bread,
And the mourning of men filled the air.
Oh green are the leaves of the old apple tree,
Those sweet perfumed blossoms of spring.
Entwined in your hair, the smile in your eye,
A soft blade of grass for a ring.
Warm are the loaves that cool on the sill
To the song of the clear trickling stream.
The good clean smell of the rough woven sheets.
The song of the children at play.
Oh the drums are so mournful my dear oh my love
As my thoughts they are turning your way.
Where are the eyes I beheld with my own
On that long-ago lazy day.
On that long-ago lazy day.
