That Sweet Place Where She Hides
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Oh now where upon the earth does she who owns my passion reside?
Long have I spent all my days in search of that sweet place where she hides.
Eyes too tired to see, so I have looked, have searched, in cities and fields;
forever I’m lost, I’m dry, my thirst is still so unsatisfied.
Where can wine be found that with one drink, one draught, can nullify pain?
With that wine, if long lost found, I’d fill my cup and say despair lied!
Do I dream? Is she thought cheap? Fickle or cruel? Not worthy of all?
Where are they, women and men, can they not see, so lost for a guide?
It is not so hard to tell that I am all alone in my search.
Where are they that if they knew of all she is would search by my side?
Oh my soul it is your loss that you are still so painfully one.
Lose yourself in not but love; my search is this: to enter inside.
Pick a rose for her, my hand, and drink a glass of wine oh my mouth!
Then I may present her with beauty in flower and song uncontrived.
Sing alone my soul, if that is what you must; still a chorus you’ll be.
Towards all else be mute, David, but sing for her and you will abide.
