Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
Sarah Brightman
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night;
When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes
And faw away, o'er lawns and lakes
Goes answering light
Yet love hath echoes truer far
And far more sweet
Then e'er beneath the moonlight's star
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar
The songs repeat
'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere
And only then
The sigh, that's breath'd for one to hear
Is by that one, that only dear
Breath'd back again
Again, again, again, ...