They say I make of love an idol
Like a maiden wooed by song
Or a breathless woman weeping
Mad and whirling like a dervish
A miracle is present here
With mournful wings of flight and prayer
Lifting angels of eternity
I worship the beauty of ancient gods
Whose strange processions pass me by
The rising tides of long ago
Turning stone into flowing song
With noonday flowers the bride awaits
A thousand suns to seize her soul
Without fanfare or sympathy
Stands formless at the altar cold
Wet with promise, a waiting spring
Her panting breast's bared for a prince
Hoarsely chanting of Eden's pleasures
Crowned with thorns and fevered hands
Arise my tumultuous joy
Of first-born bloom and awful hush
As gypsies sing of peace on earth
Our sleeping city fills with love
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