Voices on the night wind, calling me away,
Singing songs of glowing days is golden Samarkand:
Tempting me with whispers of the glory of Cathay,
Tales of blazing sun and desert sand.
Plucking at my heartstrings, begging me to go,
Softly they’re imploring me to take the trail anew;
The old compelling lure of them is pulling at me so,
What is there to keep me here but You?
Names that fire the soul of me, ringing in my mind,
Thrilling me with colour and romance,
Thoughts of gay adventures that I long have left behind
Striving with a maiden’s tender glance.
Voices on the night wind, all your art is vain,
Nothing you can offer now will tempt me forth to roam,
Never will I flirt with death ‘neath tropic skies again,
My heart is with the little girl at home.
By Donald Ian McGregor 1908-1985