There’s a melody I know that’s always haunting me,
Just a melody whose strain is always taunting me,
Awake or sleeping, it comes a creeping,
And oh, I love it so, I say where e’er I go:
Oh, pay that ‘Song of India’ again,
There’s something so appealing in each strain,
That seems to carry me far over the sea,
And I just seem to stray
Down near the bay at Mandalay;
No melody I ever heard before,
Can thrill me like that mystic wall yore;
I beg you Mister Music Man,
Just try to please me if you can,
And play that ‘Song of India’ once more.
There where Buddha dwells,
And temple bells softly ring;
There where lotus blooms,
And rare perfumes seem to bring,
Nights enchanted with a million lights,
That glimmer in the mystic heights,
Of Heaven, while each sweet heart plights love:
That sweet song of love Is all I’m ever thinking of,
That sweet song of love is like the cooing of a dove,
Each tone caressing, seems like a blessing,
For when its strains I hear my cares all disappear.
Wood, Leo and Bibo, Irving, "Play That Song of India Again" (1921). Historic Sheet Music Collection. 1188.
The views expressed in this paper are solely those of the author.