The Riddle of Ice

In Peking's walls, where ancient shadows sleep,

A legend of cold beauty, held in keeping,

Turandot, the princess, born of moon,

Whose heart is winter, shielded from the noon.

A law she set, an icy, cruel decree:

Three riddles posed, to all who sue to be

Her consort king; failure means the knife,

A sudden, crimson forfeit of their life.

From distant lands, the brave and foolish throng,

To face her gaze, where right has gone so wrong.

The headsman's axe, a sharp and waiting dread,

Piles high the skulls of princes who have bled.

Then comes a Prince, an exile, Calaf named,

By sudden sight of her, his spirit flamed.

He sees the Moon of Ice, the perfect form,

And cries to fate, "I'll weather this fierce storm!"

His father begs, the faithful slave Liu weeps,

She holds a love that secret vigil keeps.

She begs him turn, to see the danger nigh,

But for the Princess, he's resolved to die.

The gong he strikes, a brazen, booming sound,

The challenge flung across the holy ground.

Turandot sweeps down, in robes of white and gold,

A story of pure venom to unfold.

The riddles fly, like shafts of polished steel,

"What shines by night, but dies at break of feel?"

Hope is the first, the crowd sighs out in fright.

"And what is hot, and yet turns cold by night?"

Blood is the second, trembling, whispered low.

She pales with fear, she does not want to lose,

But now the third, the answer he must choose:

"What is the ice, that holds the fire within?"

His triumph rings out, silencing the din.

"It is Turandot!" The breathless answer rings,

A victory won, on desperation's wings.

She begs her father, weeping, "Do not give

Me to this stranger!" Praying he might live.

Calaf, in love, grants her the chance to turn:

"My name you do not know, until you learn.

Find it by dawn, or else I set you free.

Keep my name secret, if you master me."

"Nessun Dorma" no one sleeps this night

While Liu's pure soul is offered to the light.

She takes her life, to keep his secret whole,

A true love's sacrifice for a colder soul.

At last, the Prince confronts her, passion deep,

He breaks the ice, from its eternal sleep.

He whispers it his name a final cost,

His life is hers, if all his chance is lost.

But in that touch, the Princess sees the flame,

And cries to all, "His name is Love, the same!"

The cold is shattered, winter yields to spring,

And wedding bells across the city ring.