Last Night, Ah, Yesternight, Betwixt Her Lips And Mine There Fell Thy Shadow, Cynara! Thy Breath Was Shed Upon My Soul Between The Kisses And The Wine; And I Was Desolate And Sick Of An Old Passion, Yea, I Was Desolate And Bowed My Head: I Have Been Faithful To Thee, Cynara! In My Fashion. All Night Upon Mine Heart I Felt Her Warm Heart Beat, Night-Long Within Mine Arms In Love And Sleep She Lay; Surely The Kisses Of Her Bought Red Mouth Were Sweet; But I Was Desolate And Sick Of An Old Passion, When I Awoke And Found The Dawn Was Gray: I Have Been Faithful To Thee, Cynara! In My Fashion. I Have Forgot Much, Cynara! Gone With The Wind, Flung Roses, Roses Riotously With The Throng, Dancing, To Put Thy Pale, Lost Lilies Out Of Mind; But I Was Desolate And Sick Of An Old Passion, Yea, All The Time, Because The Dance Was Long: I Have Been Faithful To Thee, Cynara! In My Fashion. I Cried For Madder Music And For Stronger Wine, But When The Feast Is Finished And The Lamps Expire, Then Falls Thy Shadow, Cynara! The Night Is Thine; And I Am Desolate And Sick Of An Old Passion, Yea, Hungry For The Lips Of My Desire: I Have Been Faithful To Thee, Cynara! In My Fashion.