Jerusalem of gold

The mountain air is clear as wine

And the scent of pines

Is carried on the breeze of twilight

With the sound of bells.

And in the slumber of tree and stone

Captured in her dream

The city that sits solitary

And in its heart -- a wall.

Jerusalem of gold

And of bronze, and of light

Am I not a violin for all your songs.

How? The cisterns have dried

The market-place is empty

And no one frequents the Temple Mount

In the Old City.

And in the caves in the mountain

Winds are wailing

And no one descends to the Dead Sea

By way of Jericho.

But as I come to sing to you today,

And to adorn you with crowns

I am the smallest of the youngest of your children

And of the last poets

For your name scorches the lips

Like the kiss of a seraph

If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,

Which is all of gold...

We have returned to the cisterns

To the market and to the market-place

A ram's horn calls out on the Temple Mount