To the heart of song (ll)
My hand still rests on the dark-grey stone
of the railing of Charles bridge,
while my shadow runs from the timid light
of the lamps that sway in the wind.
And the statues grow dark now
and move into shadow;
the river is covered in moon-silver slices
and tendrils of soft-moving mist.
And you hold me there
to the heart of song;
and I hold to you
like a child come home.
Even now, all alone in the throat of night,
I still see you there - half dance, half prayer,
where you capture the light of a million stars
and your eyes are the colour of my dreaming.