Sound the flute,
Blow the horn,
Pluck the lute,
Forward, mourn!
Ahh...ahhh...ahhhh...
Ah!
Ah!
All Crete was at her feet,
All Thrace was in her thrall,
All Sparta loved her sweetness, and Gaul--
And Spain--
And Greece--
And Egypt--
And Syria--
And Mesopotamia--
All Crete was at her feet,
All Thrace was in her thrall,
Oh, why should such a blossom fall?
Speak the spells,
Strum the lyre,
Toll the bells,
Light the pyre.
Ahh...ahhh...ahhhh...
All Crete was at her feet,
But I shall weep no more.
I'll find my consolation as before,
Among the simple pleasures of war!