• John Dowland, man - behold a wonder here: its DOWLAND ever through the ages...
  
  
  take up thy LUTE old friend. Strike us a GALLIARD fit for the Queen herself. The years have passed, great musician of our soul, and the chill of autumn hangs in the summer air. Mistress winter threatens to leap upon us; shall I strive to stay time?
  
  
  Let fly thine arrows on the silver strings, O rock star of the Elizabethan court.
  
  
  They would not have ye as their lutanist but WE would have ye John - 500 years later! John Dowland, faithful musician upon the lyre of our lying hearts...
  
  
  Sing like a dying swan, master Dowland - the casks are still half full and the moon hath never shone so lovely. What know they of truth or beauty, John? What ears have they to sweetly divine the harmonies you entwine around the bowers of our declining hours...
  
  
  Down, down, down in a dying fall of ascending harmony. The spheres may move, the English gardens groove but JOHN thy music lingers ever in the meadows of our memory and in the smiling froth of our ale-pints. Awake, sweet love, and excuse my wrongs - do not die before thy day.
  
  
  The ages have grown grey, Master Dowland - the music has grown thick with babylonian dullness - but thy jewels of perfect sorrow only shine more truly in the light of this leaden age.
  
  
  Your airs refresh, oh shepherd of the aeolian pastures, across the flocks and meadows of the centuries. They dispel the stench of this present world - and we thank you for your music.

• No Comments

Log in now to tell us what you think this song means.

Don’t have an account? Create an account with SongMeanings to post comments, submit lyrics, and more. It’s super easy, we promise!