The South is a dream of flowers With a jewel for sky and sea,
Rose-crowns for the dancing hours, Gold fruits upon every tree;
But cold from the North The wind blows forth That blows my love to me.
The stars in the South are gold Like lamps between sky and sea;
The flowers that the forests hold. Like stars between tree and tree;
But little and white Is the pale moon's light That lights my love to me.
In the South the orange grove Makes dusk by the dusky sea,
White palaces wrought for love Gleam white between tree and tree,
But under bare boughs Is the little house Warm-lit for my love and me.
