Sing, sing low,
Blow gently, wood-wind,
Mellow and slow.
Like midnight poppies
The sweethearts bloom.
Their eyes flash power,
Their lips are dumb.
Faster and faster
Their pulses come,
Though softer now
The drum-beats fall.
Honey and wine,
Honey and wine.
'Tis the firemen's ball,
'Tis the firemen's ball.

# With a climax of whispered mourning. #
"I am slain,"
Cries true-love
There in the shadow.
"And I die,"
Cries true-love,
There laid low.
"When the fire-dreams come,
The wise dreams go."
# Suddenly interrupting. To be read or sung in
a heavy bass. First eight lines as harsh as possible.
Then gradually musical and sonorous. #
BUT HIS CRY IS DROWNED
BY THE PROUD BAND-MASTER.