O bring me back the singing.
The airs of long ago;
Bring back the sweet, sad music
To set cold hearts aglow.

Too hushed is mosque and temple,
Too silent church and shrine;
Stir up a thousand tumults
With that dark glance of thine.

Fill me the fiery goblet
That made my dust to flame:
Youth thirsts anew, desirous,
And youth shall quaff the same.

The pipe that sets a-dancing
The heart within the breast,
The wine that moves the spirit
And melts and soul oppressed—

Soft amid Persia’s rushes
The breeze of morning sings:
Bring me the spark that trickles
From those melodious strings.