“And my bride is tender and fair;
And I’ve heard the tale by the minstrels sung,
Of the land of the golden air,
Of the land of the lily and rose,
Of the land where the sun-birds sing,
Where the purple vine of the wined grape grows,
And the winters are bright with spring.
“My crystal sails in the silver mist,
I will lift where the warm winds play,
And over the seas of amethyst,