夕阳西下，一架管风琴在城市的金色街道上唱着颂歌;音乐不是不朽的;但世界使它变得甜蜜，用晚霞充实了它;它在城市的欢乐和痛苦中跳动，像一束永恒的大光围绕着歌唱的风琴;他们给了它一种荣耀，让它再次在交响乐中占据一席之地，统治着白天和黑夜。现在它在古老的浪漫王国中前进，唱着一首熟悉的曲子，现在它是轰鸣的大炮，去和法国国王战斗，现在它在对着月亮轻声细语。在风琴的四周，有一片无边无际的海洋，充满了人类的欢乐、奇迹和遗憾;记住并永远补偿音乐，因为那冰冷的机器忘记了……是的,随着音乐的变化，像一面棱镜，它吸收了光线，穿透了所有的情绪; Dissects the common carnival Of passions and regrets, And gives the world a glimpse of all The colours it forgets. And there La Traviata sighs Another sadder song; And there Il Trovatore cries A tale of deeper wrong; And bolder knights to battle go With sword and shield and lance, Than ever here on earth below Have whirled into--a dance!-- Go down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time; Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland; Go down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) The cherry-trees are seas of bloom and soft perfume and sweet perfume, The cherry-trees are seas of bloom (and oh, so near to London!) And there they say, when dawn is high and all the world's a blaze of sky The cuckoo, though he's very shy, will sing a song for London. The nightingale is rather rare and yet they say you'll hear him there At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!) The linnet and the throstle, too, and after dark the long halloo And golden-eyed tu-whit, tu-whoo of owls that ogle London. For Noah hardly knew a bird of any kind that isn't heard At Kew, at Kew in lilac-time (and oh, so near to London!) And when the rose begins to pout and all the chestnut spires are out You'll hear the rest without a doubt, all chorusing for London:-- Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac-time; Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) And you shall wander hand in hand with love in summer's wonderland; Come down to Kew in lilac-time (is isn't far from London!) And then the troubadour begins to thrill the golden street, In the city as the sun sinks low; And in all the gaudy busses there are scores of weary feet Marking time, sweet time, with a dull mechanic beat, And a thousand hearts are plunging to a love they'll never meet, Through the meadows of the sunset, through the poppies and the wheat, In the land where the dead dreams go. Verdi, Verdi, when you wrote Il Trovatore did you dream Of the City when the sun sinks low, Of the organ and the monkey and the many-coloured stream On the Piccadilly pavement, of the myriad eyes that seem To be litten for a moment with a wild Italian gleam As A che la morte parodies the world's eternal theme And pulses with the sunset-glow? There's a thief, perhaps, that listens with a face of frozen stone In the City as the sun sinks low; There's a portly man of business with a balance of his own, There's a clerk and there's a butcher of a soft reposeful tone, And they're all of them returning to the heavens they have known: They are crammed and jammed in busses and--they're each of them alone In the land where the dead dreams go. There's a labourer that listens to the voices of the dead In the City as the sun sinks low; And his hand begins to tremble and his face is rather red As he sees a loafer watching him and--there he turns his head And stares into the sunset where his April love is fled, For he hears her softly singing and his lonely soul is led Through the land where the dead dreams go... There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street In the City as the sun sinks low; Though the music's only Verdi there's a world to make it sweet Just as yonder yellow sunset where the earth and heaven meet Mellows all the sooty City! Hark, a hundred thousand feet Are marching on to glory through the poppies and the wheat In the land where the dead dreams go. So it's Jeremiah, Jeremiah, What have you to say When you meet the garland girls Tripping on their way? All around my gala hat I wear a wreath of ro