george whitefield chadwick - the cyclamen كلمات أغنية
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over the plains where persian hosts
laid down their lives for glory
flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts
that witness to their story
oh, fair! oh, white! oh, pure as snow!
on countless graves how sweet they grow!
or crimson, like the cruel wounds
from which the life_blood, flowing
poured out where now on grassy mounds
the low, soft winds are blowing:
oh, fair! oh, red! like blood of slain;
not even time can cleanse that stain
but when my dear these blossoms holds
all loveliness her dower
all woe and joy the past enfolds
in her find fullest flower
oh, fair! oh, pure! oh, white and red!
if she but live, what are the dead!
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