PADRE

To each his Dulcinea

That he alone can name...

To each a secret hiding place

Where he can find the haunting face

To light his secret flame.

For with his Dulcinea Beside him so to stand,

A man can do quite anything,

Outfly the bird upon the wing,

Hold moonlight in his hand.

Yet if you build your life on dreams

It's prudent to recall,

A man with moonlight in his hand

Has nothing there at all.

There is no Dulcinea,

She's made of flame and air,

And yet how lovely life would seem

If ev'ry man could weave a dream

To keep him from despair.

To each his Dulcinea...

Though she's naught but flame and air!