Lyrics
Sweep thy faint strings, Musician,
With thy long lean hand
Downward the starry tapers burn,
Sinks soft the waning sand
The old hound whimpers, couched in sleep,
The embers smoulder low
Across the walls the shadows
Come, and go.
Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
The minutes mount to hours
Frost on the windless casement weaves
A labyrinth of flowers
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
Hearken at the open door
Music hath called them, dreaming,
Home once more.
WRITERS
Ina Boyle
PUBLISHERS
Lyrics © SENTRIC MUSIC
See A Problem With Something?
Lyrics
Other
LyricIQ Analysis
Top Emotion
Enjoyment
Sentiment
Theme
None
