En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Cafes In Damascus

LANGUIDLY the night-wind bloweth
From the gardens round,
Where the clear Barrada floweth
With a lulling sound.

Not the lute-note's sweet shiver
Can such music find,
As is on a wandering river,
On a wandering wind.

There the Moslem leaneth, dreaming
O'er the inward world,
While around the fragrant steaming
Of the smoke is curled.

Rising from the coffee berry,
Dark grape of the South;
Or the pipe of polished cherry,
With its amber mouth.

Cooled by passing through the water,
Gurgling as it flows—
Scented by the Summer's daughter,
June's impassioned rose.

By that rose's spirit haunted
Are the dreams that rise,
Of far lands, and lives enchanted,
And of deep black eyes.

Thus with some sweet dream's assistance,
Float they down life's stream;
Would to heaven our whole existence
Could be such a dream!

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Year of the Rose

From the depths of the green garden-closes
Where the summer in darkness dozes
Till autumn pluck from his hand
An hour-glass that holds not a sand;
From the maze that a flower-belt encloses
To the stones and sea-grass on the strand
How red was the reign of the roses
Over the rose-crowned land!

The year of the rose is brief;
From the first blade blown to the sheaf,
From the thin green leaf to the gold,
It has time to be sweet and grow old,
To triumph and leave not a leaf
For witness in winter's sight
How lovers once in the light
Would mix their breath with its breath,
And its spirit was quenched not of night,
As love is subdued not of death.

In the red-rose land not a mile
Of the meadows from stile to stile,
Of the valleys from stream to stream,
But the air was a long sweet dream
And the earth was a sweet wide smile
Red-mouthed of a goddess, returned
From the sea which had borne her and burned,
That with one swift smile of her mouth
Looked full on the north as it yearned,
And the north was more than the south.

For the north, when winter was long,
In his heart had made him a song,
And clothed it with wings of desire,
And shod it with shoon as of fire,
To carry the tale of his wrong
To the south-west wind by the sea,
That none might bear it but he
To the ear of the goddess unknown
Who waits till her time shall be
To take the world for a throne.

In the earth beneath, and above
In the heaven where her name is love,
She warms with light from her eyes
The seasons of life as they rise,
And her eyes are as eyes of a dove,
But the wings that lift her and bear
As an eagle's, and all her hair
As fire by the wind's breath curled,
And her passage is song through the air,
And her presence is spring through the world.

So turned she northward and came,
And the white-thorn land was aflame
With the fires that were shed from her feet,
That the north, by her love made sweet,
Should be called by a rose-red name;
And a murmur was heard as of doves,
And a music beginning of loves
In the light that the roses made,
Such light as the music loves,
The music of man with maid.

But the days drop one upon one,
And a chill soft wind is begun
In the heart of the rose-red maze
That weeps for the roseleaf days
And the reign of the rose undone
That ruled so long in the light,
And by spirit, and not by sight,
Through the darkness thrilled with its breath,
Still ruled in the viewless night,
As love might rule over death.

The time of lovers is brief;
From the fair first joy to the grief
That tells when love is grown old,
From the warm wild kiss to the cold,
From the red to the white-rose leaf,
They have but a season to seem
As rose-leaves lost on a stream
That part not and pass not apart
As a spirit from dream to dream,
As a sorrow from heart to heart.

From the bloom and the gloom that encloses
The death-bed of Love where he dozes
Till a relic be left not of sand
To the hour-glass that breaks in his hand;
From the change in the grey garden-closes
To the last stray grass of the strand,
A rain and ruin of roses
Over the red-rose land.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To a Robin in November

Sweet, sweet and the soft listening heaven reels
In one blue ecstasy above thy song
In the red heart of all the opening year,
In the hushed murmur of low dreaming fields
Hung under heaven ’twixt dim blue and blue;
Where the young Summer, purpled and pearled in dew,
Mirrors herself in June, and knows no wrong.

Sweet, sweet, throwing thy lack of fear
Back to the heart of God, till heaven feels
The throbbing of earth’s music through and through.

Dreaming in song,—great pulsing-hearted hills,
Cradling the dawn in mists and purple veils
Of vapors, over pearls of lakes and brooks
Girdled about the neck of half the world,
When the red birth of the young dreaming June
Kisses the lands with gales, and murmurs, and trills
Of melody, lips that blossom with tales
Of music and color and form and beauty of looks
And snowy argosies in heaven furled,
All summer set to one sweet warbled tune.

And thou, red-throated, comest back to me
Here in the bare November bleak and chill,
Breathing the red-ripe of the lusty June
Over the rime of withered field and mere;
O heart of music, while I dream of thee,
Thou gladdest note in the dead Summer’s tune,
Great God! thou liest dead outside my sill,
Starved of the last chill berry on thy tree,
Like some sweet instrument left all unstrung,
The melodious orchestra of all the year.
Dead with the sweet dead summer thou had’st sung;
Dead with the dead year’s voices and clasp of hands;
Dead with all music and love and laughter and light;
While chilly and bleak comes up the winter night,
And shrieks the gust across the leafless lands.

poem by William Wilfred Campbell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Seasons of Hope

I wonder if the wind will blow from the east,
When we rise in the Spring to a promising feast,
To welcome the buds as they gently unfold,
And my Rose of all flowers the queen.

I wonder if the wind will blow from the south,
With the heat of the sun like a furnace's mouth;
And the roses of June braving colours so bold,
In contrast with verdure green.

I wonder if the wind will blow from the west,
When Autumn is heralding Summer's bequest,
And the last rose of summer as in centuries old
Fades away, lacking lustre and sheen.

I wonder if the wind will blow from the north,
When the flurries of snowflakes come sallying forth;
And my loved one and I will bend to the cold,
Though inwardly warm and serene.

Let the wind blow its will, be it gale, be it light,
Let it blow itself out in the dark of the night;
Let the sky be dark azure or glorious gold,
There's no hope in a future foreseen.

poem by Pius Dapre
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Haunted In Old Japan

I
Music of the star-shine shimmering o’er the sea
Mirror me no longer in the dusk of memory:
Dim and white the rose-leaves drift along the shore
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

II
All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,
Silent, silent voices, cry no more of home;
Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o’er the dim lagoon,
Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon.

III
We that loved in April, we that turned away
Laughing, ere the wood-dove crooned across the May,
Watch the withered rose-leaves drift along the shore.
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

IV
We that saw the winter waste the weeping bower,
We that saw the young love perish like a flower,
We that saw the dark eyes deepening with tears,
Hear the vanished voices in the land beyond the years.

V
We that hurt the thing we loved; we that went astray,
We that in the darkness idly dreamed of day . . .
. . . Ah! The dreary rose-leaves drift along the shore.
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

VI
Lonely starry faces, wonderful and white,
Yearning with a cry across the dim sweet night,
All our dreams are blown a-drift as flowers before a fan,
All our hearts are haunted in the heart of old Japan.

VII
Haunted, haunted, haunted; we that mocked and sinned
Hear the vanished voices wailing down the wind,
Watch the ruined rose-leaves drift along the shore;
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

VIII
We, the sons of reason, we that chose to bride
Knowledge and rejected the Dream that we denied,
We that mocked the Holy Ghost and chose the Son of Man, [1]
Now must wander haunted in the heart of old Japan

IX
Haunted, haunted, haunted, by the sound of falling tears,
Haunted, haunted, haunted, by the yearning of the years;
Ah! the phantom rose-leaves drift along the shore;
Wind among the roses, blow no more!

X
All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,
Sobbing, sobbing voices, cry no more of home:
Soft beyond the cherry trees, o’er the dim lagoon,
Dawns the crimson lantern of the large, low moon.

poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where The River Flows

Music : rudolf schenker
Lyrics: klaus meine
Under suburban skies
Where life is bleeding
Where concrete skies are grey
Theres plenty of room for dreaming
I still keep coming here
Follow those traces
I travel back in time
Remember all those places
Feels like I never left
The houses still standing
Down by the river where
The dreams are never ending
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Under the silent moon
This industrial city
Is heartland even though
Lifes been not that pretty
I still keep coming here
To that old river
To find my roots just where
The future lives forever
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me, you can find me
By the river where dreams will never die
By the river under suburban skies
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
By the river where dreams have never died
By the river I look through childrens eyes
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows

song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Gardens Of Shushan

BE pitiful ! Her lips have touched this cool
Clear stream that sets the long green leaves astir.
The very doves that dream beside the pool
Sang their soft notes to her.

For her these doors that claim the amorous south,
Bound in red bronze and stayed with cedar-wood.
And here the bees sought honey from her mouth,
So like a flower she stood.

For her the globed pomegranates grew, and all
Sweet savoury fruits rose perfect from their flower.
Here has her soul known silence and the fall
Of each enchanted hour.

Under her feet all beauty was laid low,
In her deep eyes all beauty was made clear.
When the king called her through the evening glow,
'O Vashti, I am here !'

Still the sweet wells return to me her face,
Still her lost name on every wind is blown.
The shadows and the silence of this place
Are hers alone.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nocturn

I walk, I only,
Not I only wake;
Nothing is, this sweet night,
But doth couch and wake
For its love's sake;
Everything, this sweet night,
Couches with its mate.
For whom but for the stealthy-visitant sun
Is the naked moon
Tremulous and elate?
The heaven hath the earth
Its own and all apart;
The hush-ed pool holdeth
A star to its heart.
You may think the rose sleepeth,
But though she folded is,
The wind doubts her sleeping;
Not all the rose sleeps,
But smiles in her sweet heart
For crafty bliss.
The wind lieth with the rose,
And when he stirs, she stirs in her repose:
The wind hath the rose,
And the rose her kiss.
Ah, mouth of me!
Is it then that this
Seemeth much to thee?--
I wander only.
The rose hath her kiss.

poem by Francis Thompson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My dear dream

Dream of sea,
Dream of ships,
Dream of huge ocean,
Dream of men in unifom

Its my dream, dream so different,
Dream so new, dream of dark sky up above,
Dream of sea so calm, dream of sea roaring,
Its my sweet dream.

Dream so sweet, wonderfull, special, close to my heart,
Its my sweet dream.
Dreaming to get my dreams happen.
Its my sweet dream.

poem by Anees Akbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Desert Rose

Words and music by sting
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
I dream of fire
Those dreams that tie two hearts that will never die
And near the flames
The shadows play in the shape of the mans desire
This desert rose
Whose shadow bears the secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume that would torture you more than this
And now she turns
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams
This fire burns
I realize that nothings as it seems
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
I dream of rain
I lift my gaze to empty skies above
I close my eyes
The rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love
I dream of rain
I dream of gardens in the desert sand
I wake in vain
I dream of love as time runs through my hand
Sweet desert rose
Whose shadow bears the secret promise
This desert flower
No sweet perfume that would torture you more than this
Sweet desert rose
This memory of hidden hearts and souls
This desert flower
This rare perfurme is the sweet intoxication of love

song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harvest time

Pillowed and hushed on the silent plain,
Wrapped in her mantle of golden grain,

Wearied of pleasuring weeks away,
Summer is lying asleep to-day,--

Where winds come sweet from the wild-rose briers
And the smoke of the far-off prairie fires;

Yellow her hair as the goldenrod,
And brown her cheeks as the prairie sod;

Purple her eyes as the mists that dream
At the edge of some laggard sun-drowned stream;

But over their depths the lashes sweep,
For Summer is lying to-day asleep.

The north wind kisses her rosy mouth,
His rival frowns in the far-off south,

And comes caressing her sunburnt cheek,
And Summer awakes for one short week,--

Awakes and gathers her wealth of grain,
Then sleeps and dreams for a year again.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wanna be the Dream

I wanna be the dream
Yeah to be the real dream
I wanna be the dream
And to vanish like a dream

Like a star fading in the sunlight
Like a candle vanishing with the sunrise
The dreams keep seeping through the flimsy net
With the truth rising rising like the tide
Covering shiny pebbles that shone in the sun
Covring little puddles that showed thousand moons

I wanna be the dream
Yeah to be the real dream
I wanna be the dream
And to vanish like a dream

I am still here but no one else
Holding on to the dreams holding on to them
Fate is wicked and the road is crooked
The road I have to travel to get to the end
Flowing water streams smiling rose buds
They all shows up in the dreams in the net

I wanna be the dream
Yeah to be the real dream
I wanna be the dream
And to vanish like a dream

I am still here but no I am not
I want to get in the dream to jump in the streams
To kneel down beside and to smell the rose
I want to get in the dream to dream all along
And to vanish through the net when the dream is gone

I wanna be the dream
Yeah to be the real dream
I wanna be the dream
And to vanish like a dream

[Dilzz this is for you, the dreamer. It is one hundred and forty. Tonight I am tired. Tired of everything, everything... Water flows down... Because there is something called gravity... On the way... I met you. We touched each other's hearts... with our long warm... sighs. We can close our eyes and see the world... the world that is beneth the crust and beyond the limits of the universe. Yet that is.... my dear Dilzz.... I know you will agree.... just.... yes... just another dream.]

poem by Rowving Smith
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Dreaming A Dream

Dreaming of a dream
A dream were skies are blue oceans are clear and life scared
Dreaming of dream
were a dream of peace and love rule and hate is a myth
Dreaming of a dream
having food for all, and all not thirst
Dreaming of a dream

Dreaming of a dream
were skin color is just that, us all just one
Dreaming a dream
no pain, war the only true crime
Dreaming a dream
were the rich give, and the poor have a chance
Dreaming a dream

Dreaming a dream
were we can look on a future of happiness'
Dreaming a dream
were the children are the future
Dream a dream
were lives are fullfilled, and getting old is not a bad thing
Dreaming a dream

World wonderess, happy, clean, perfect

Dreaming a dream

poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer Dream

As I sleep under the summer sun I dream of a maiden of beauty
I see the wind in her hair like that of wind moving the summer grass in a field
I see her eyes that sparkle like that of sun gleaming off the lake on a summer day
I see her warm face like that of a summer white rose, soft and beautiful to the touch
I see her lips sweet and red like the berries on the summer vine
Then as I wake I see your beautiful face and know you are my dream

8-19-09

poem by Timothy Honeycutt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Fruit Of The Wild Rose

Goodnight my love
Im so alone
And so surrounded
By your sweet memory
I cannot sleep
For all these dreams
They come to play
Till dawn comes stealin them away..
The fruit of the wild rose
Hangs here with summer gone
Voluptuous crimson
As the days become colder
The fruit of the wild rose
In a warmer country
Where the sea meets the land
You may walk with your baby
In the afternoon
Perhaps some aroma
From a street caf
Might sadden your eyes
Carry you away
The fruit of the wild rose
Sweet and so sour on the tongue
Swollen and crimson
As the light fades and shortens
The thorny wild rose
She gave me a summer but shes gone
As england faces the winter
In your eyes, in your mind, in your mind
Clearer than a photograph
No passing of time
Ever could fade
You and i
Shimmering ghostly
Like a wild garden from another life
Will you throw your arm
Turn your body round
Breathe a sudden sigh
Wherever you lie sleeping
Stir your hips
Feel the seed inside so sweet
Dreaming westbound waves
And a man comin back from the sea...
Dreaming
Dance for me rose

song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream Street Rose

Youve bin in all my dreams since youve been gone
Each mornin that I wake up with the dawn
Dream street rose I like the way you smile
Dream street rose stay with me a while
You gave more than anyone could ask
You washed away all shadows from my past
Dream street rose heaven only knows
Dream street rose thats the way she goes
Dream street rose let us not pretend
Heaven knows will you love me
Right til the end
Somewhere in between there stands a dream
The sweetest dream that we have ever seen
Dream street rose I like the way you smile
Dream street rose please stay with me a while
Dream street rose I miss you when youre gone
Heaven knows Im gonna love ya
From now on
Dream street rose I like the way you smile
Dream street rose stay with me a while
Dream street rose heaven only knows
Dream street rose thats the way she goes

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wild Rose

The first wild rose in wayside hedge,
This year I wandering see,
I pluck, and send it as a pledge,
My own Wild Rose, to Thee.

For when my gaze first met thy gaze,
We were knee-deep in June:
The nights were only dreamier days,
And all the hours in tune.

I found thee, like the eglantine,
Sweet, simple, and apart;
And, from that hour, thy smile hath been
The flower that scents my heart.

And, ever since, when tendrils grace
Young copse or weathered bole
With rosebuds, straight I see thy face,
And gaze into thy soul.

A natural bud of love Thou art,
Where, gazing down, I view,
Deep hidden in thy fragrant heart,
A drop of heavenly dew.

Go, wild rose, to my Wild Rose dear;
Bid her come swift and soon.
O would that She were always here!
It then were always June.

poem by Alfred Austin
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Fairies On The Sea Shore. By Howard

FIRST FAIRY.

MY home and haunt are in every leaf,
Whose life is a summer day, bright and brief,--
I live in the depths of the tulip's bower,
I wear a wreath of the cistus flower,
I drink the dew of the blue harebell,
I know the breath of the violet well,--
The white and the azure violet;
But I know not which is the sweetest yet,--
I have kiss'd the cheek of the rose;
I have watch'd the lily unclose,
My silver mine is the almond tree,
Who will come dwell with flower and me?

CHORUS OF FAIRIES.

Dance we our round, 'tis a summer night,
And our steps are led by the glow-worms' light.

SECOND FAIRY.

My dwelling is in the serpentine
Of the rainbow's colour'd line,--
See how its rose and amber clings
To the many hues of my radiant wings;
Mine is the step that bids the earth
Give to the iris flower its birth,
And mine the golden cup to hide,
Where the last faint hue of the rainbow died.
Search the depths of an Indian mine,
Where are the colours to match with mine?

CHORUS.

Dance we round, for the gale is bringing
Songs the summer rose is singing.

THIRD FAIRY.

I float on the breath of a minstrel's lute,
Or the wandering sounds of a distant flute,
Linger I over the tones that swell
From the pink-vein'd chords of an ocean-shell;
I love the sky-lark's morning hymn,
Or the nightingale heard at the twilight dim,
The echo, the fountain's melody,--
These, oh! these are the spells for me!

CHORUS.

Hail to the summer night of June;
See! yonder has risen our ladye moon.

FOURTH SPIRIT.

My palace is in the coral cave
Set with spars by the ocean wave;
Would ye have gems, then seek them there,--
There found I the pearls that bind my hair.
I and the wind together can roam
Over the green waves and their white foam,--
See, I have got this silver shell,
Mark how my breath will its smallness swell,
For the Nautilus is my boat
In which I over the waters float,--
The moon is shining over the sea,
Who is there will come sail with me?

CHORUS OF FAIRIES.

Our noontide sleep is on leaf and flower,
Our revels are held in a moonlit hour,--
What is there sweet, what is there fair,
And we are not the dwellers there?
Dance we round, for the morning light,
Will put us and our glow-worm lamps to flight!

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of the Pilgrims

O Dwellers at the back of the North Wind,
What have we done to you? How have we sinned
Wandering the Earth from Orkney unto Ind?

With many deaths our fellowship is thinned,
Our flesh is withered in the parching wind,
Wandering the earth from Orkney unto Ind.

We have no rest. We cannot turn again
Back to the world and all her fruitless pain,
Having once sought the land where ye remain.

Some say ye are not. But, ah God! we know
That somewhere, somewhere past the Northern snow
Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow:

-The red-rose and the white-rose gardens blow
In the green Northern land to which we go,
Surely the ways are long and the years are slow.

We have forsaken all things sweet and fair,
We have found nothing worth a moment's care
Because the real flowers are blowing there.

Land of the Lotus fallen from the sun,
Land of the Lake from whence all rivers run,
Land where the hope of all our dreams is won!

Shall we not somewhere see at close of day
The green walls of that country far away,
And hear the music of her fountains play?

So long we have been wandering all this while
By many a perilous sea and drifting isle,
We scarce shall dare to look thereon and smile.

Yea, when we are drawing very near to thee,
And when at last the ivory port we see
Our hearts will faint with mere felicity:

But we shall wake again in gardens bright
Of green and gold for infinite delight,
Sleeping beneath the solemn mountains white,
While from the flowery copses still unseen
Sing out the crooning birds that ne'er have been
Touched by the hand of winter frore and lean;

And ever living queens that grow not old
And poets wise in robes of faerie gold
Whisper a wild, sweet song that first was told

Ere God sat down to make the Milky Way.
And in those gardens we shall sleep and play
For ever and for ever and a day.

Ah, Dwellers at the back of the North Wind,
What have we done to you? How have we sinned,
That yes should hide beyond the Northern wind?

Land of the Lotus, fallen from the Sun,
When shall your hidden, flowery vales be won
And all the travail of our way be done?

Very far we have searched; we have even seen
The Scythian waste that bears no soft nor green,
And near the Hideous Pass our feet have been.

We have heard Syrens singing all night long
Beneath the unknown stars their lonely song
In friendless seas beyond the Pillars strong.

Nor by the dragon-daughter of Hypocras
Nor the vale of the Devil's head we have feared to pass,
Yet is our labour lost and vain, alas!

Scouring the earth from Orkney unto Ind,
Tossed on the seas and withered in the wind,
We seek and seek your land. How have we sinned?

Or is it all a folly of the wise,
Bidding us walk these ways with blinded eyes
While all around us real flowers arise?

But, by the very God, we know, we know
That somewhere still, beyond the Northern snow
Waiting for us the red-rose gardens blow.

poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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My Mom

My Mom was like a perfect rose at springtime,
Pure and beautiful, and the petals perfectly formed,
And it's fragrance sweet and pleasing to the senses.
For the rose, as my mom, came into this world as a thing of beauty.

As time passed, the winds came into my mother's life,
For as life brings the rose, it also brings the winds.
The wind blows the petals off the rose and it is no longer new
And struggles through the wind to regain its strength and beauty.

Because the rose by God's design is a thing of splendor,
The petals grow back as the winds die down,
As did my mother, for her spirit was strong,
And she lived her life with a love that had no boundaries.

My Mom fought many winds with grace and strength,
Always with a smile and never to bring sadness to anyone,
For she could not bear to see anyone cry,
She was too full of love and life to let the wind touch her spirit.

Mom was my perfect rose; beautiful, warm, loving, and sweet.
She is safe from the winds now and lives in Heaven.
She will live on in my heart always,
And ease the strong wind that weakens me.

Someday the wind will be only a gentle breeze upon my face,
And I will know that she lives on in me forever.
I will know that my Mom is still with me,
Still beautiful and strong and loving.

She is safe now and so much stronger than the winds
The she so courageously endured.
And in that she taught me to believe, have faith, and to know
That I have the strength to endure the winds of my own sorrow.

I love you Mom, you are forever in my heart - you are forever.

poem by Sally DeSmet Trueblood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Set My Dreams To Music

(steve dorff / m. a. leikin)
Oh, Im loving what I see
Each time you smile at me
I love the look of what youre thinking
I know how it feels to fly
Im glowing like the sky thats on fire
As the sun is sinking
Oh, you set my dreams to music
As you spend the whole night making them come true
And in my whole life
I have never had a dream as sweet as you
No-one else I ever knew
Touch me quite like you
Or say as much
Without a word now
Love, Im hoping you can see a songs inside of me
That holds more love
Than any song youve heard, now
Oh, you set my dreams to music
As you spend the whole night making them come true
And in my whole life
I have never had a dream as sweet as you
I know how it feels to fly
Im glowing like the sky
Thats on fire
As the sun is sinking
Oh, you set my dreams to music
As you spend the whole night making them come true
And in my whole life
I have never had a dream as sweet as you
And in my whole life
I have never had a dream as sweet as you
Ah, ha, you set my dreams to music
Sweet, sweet, sweet music
Ah, ha, you set my dreams
Sweet, sweet, sweet music
You set my dreams to music
Yeah, oh yeah
Sweet, sweet music

song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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