The gentle breezes,
that blow warm in you hair,
is of the whispering winds of the words,
of my passion,
exhausted though my very breath,
gentle pleas, cries of love,
illusion of your beauty that gentle sways.
I flee to a fairyland of love,
softly spoken, and tenderly held,
close to me from a world away,
with no delay my dreams are sent
How, must I, contain-the-passion!
a storm is brewing under the firefly flickers,
in the twilight, star sparkle like pearls,
oh, lonely orb, shine, shine! for me
my heart is a cyclone, that dances
in the pail light.
I'm man, I'm beast,
No cold steel fence can hold me;
but near to you I am weak,
I'm only bound by warm gentle arms!
and the thoughts are growing of a warm kiss.
And from there I wish to never be set free,
from the arms of my-Angel!