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Jameson Moore
Jameson Moore

That Winter The Wind Blows Ost Download Full

The fervid breath of our flushed Southern MayIs sweet upon the city's throat and lips,As a lover's whose tired arm slipsListlessly over the shoulder of a queen.Far awayThe river melts in the unseen.Oh, beautiful Girl-City, how she dipsHer feet in the streamWith a touch that is half a kiss and half a dream!Her face is very fair,With flowers for smiles and sunlight in her hair.My westland flower-town, how serene she is!Here on this hill from which I look at her,All is still as if a worshipperLeft at some shrine his offering.Soft winds kissMy cheek with a slow lingering.A luring whisper where the laurels stirWiles my heart back to woodland-ward again.But lo,Across the sky the sunset couriers run,And I remainTo watch the imperial pageant of the SunMock me, an impotent Cortez here below,With splendors of its vaster Mexico.O Eldorado of the templed clouds!O golden city of the western sky!Not like the Spaniard would I storm thy gates;Not like the babe stretch chubby hands and cryTo have thee for a toy; but far from crowds,Like my Faun brother in the ferny glen,Peer from the wood's edge while thy glory waits,And in the darkening thickets plunge again.

that winter the wind blows ost download full

Shipmate, leave the ghostly shadows,Where thy boon companions throng!We will put to sea togetherThrough the twilight with a song.Leering closer, rank and girding,In this Black Port where we bide,Reel a thousand flaring faces;But escape is on the tide.Let the tap-rooms of the cityReek till the red dawn comes round.There is better wine in plentyOn the cruise where we are bound.I've aboard a hundred messmatesBetter than these 'long-shore knaves.There is wreckage on the shallows;It's the open sea that saves.Hark, lad, dost not hear it calling?That's the voice thy father knew,When he took the King's good cutlassIn his grip, and fought it through.Who would palter at press-moneyWhen he heard that sea-cry vast?That's the call makes lords of lubbers,When they ship before the mast.Let thy cronies of the tavernKeep their kisses bought with gold;On the high seas there are regionsWhere the heart is never old,Where the great winds every morningSweep the sea-floor clean and white,And upon the steel-blue archesBurnish the great stars of night;There the open hand will lose not,Nor the loosened tongue betray.Signed, and with our sailing orders,We will clear before the day;On the shining yards of heavenSee a wider dawn unfurled....The eternal slaves of beautyAre the masters of the world.

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