Lieder – complete index
Lieder – index b:
7. "Beckon to me to come"
8. "Blow out, you Bugles"
9. "Dear, think not that they will forget you"
10. "During Music"
11. "Earth's Call"
12. "Friendship in Misfortune"
13. "Great Things"
14. " 'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town"
15. "Her Song"
16. "Hope the Hornblower"
17. "I have twelve oxen that be fair and brown"
18. "If there were dreams to sell"
19. "If we must part"
20. "In Boyhood"
21. "In my sage moments"
22. "It was what you bore with you, Woman"
23. "Love and Friendship"
24. "My true love hath my heart"
25. "Remember"
26. "Rest"
27. "Santa Chiara"
28. "Sea Fever"
29. "Spring Sorrow"
30. "Summer Schemes"
31. "The Adoration"
32. "The Bells of San Marie"
33. "The Sun at noon to higher air"
34. "The Journey"
35. "The Merry Month of May"
36. "The One Hope"
37. "The Rat"
38. "The tragedy of that moment"
39. "The Trellis"
40. "Tryst" (In Fountain Court)
41. "Tutto è sciolto"
42. "Vagabond"
43. "Weathers"
44. "We'll to the Woods no more"
45. "What art thou thinking of?"
46. "When I am dead, my dearest"
47. "When I am old"
48. "When lights go rolling round the sky"
7.
"Beckon to me to come"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
Beckon to me to come
With handkerchief or hand,
Or finger mere or thumb;
Let forecasts be but rough,
Parents more bleak than bland
'Twill be enough
Maid mine,
'Twill be enough!
Two fields, a wood, a tree,
Nothing now more malign
Lies between you and me;
But were they bysm, or bluff,
Or snarling sea, one sign
Would be enough
Maid mine,
Would be enough!
8. "Blow
out, you Bugles"
Text by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
Music by John Ireland
Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold.
These laid the world away; poured out the red
Sweet wine of youth; gave up the years to be
Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene,
That men call age; and those who would have been,
Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
Blow, bugles, blow! They brought us, for our dearth,
Holiness, lacked so long, and Love, and Pain.
Honour has come back, as a king, to earth,
And paid his subjects with a royal wage;
And Nobleness walks in our ways again;
And we have come into our heritage.
9. "Dear,
think not that they will forget you (Her Temple)"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
Dear, think not that they will forget you:
- If craftsmanly art should be mine
I will build up a temple, and set you
Therein as its shrine.
They may say: 'Why a woman such honour?'
- Be told, 'O so sweet was her fame,
That a man heaped this splendour upon her;
None now knows his name.
10.
"During Music"
Text by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)
Music by John Ireland
O cool unto the sense of pain
That last night's sleep could not destroy;
O warm unto the sense of joy,
That dreams it's life within the brain.
What though I lean o'er thee to scan
The written music cramped and stiff;
T'is dark to me, as hieroglyph
On those weird bulks Egyptian.
But as from those, dumb now and strange,
A glory wanders on the earth,
Even so thy tones can call a birth
From these, to shake my soul with change.
O swift, as in melodious haste
Float o'er the keys thy fingers small.
O soft, as is the rise and fall
Which stirs that shade within thy breast.
11.
"Earth's Call"
Text by Harold Monro (1879-1932)
Music by John Ireland
The fresh air moves like water round a boat.
The white clouds wander. Let us wander too.
The whining, wavering plover flap and float.
That crow is flying after that cuckoo.
Look! Look! . . . they're gone. What are the great trees calling?
Just come a little farther, by that edge
Of green, to where the stormy ploughland, falling
Wave upon wave, is lapping to the hedge.
Oh, what a lovely bank! Give me your hand.
Lie down and press your heart against the ground.
Let us both listen till we understand
Each through the other, every natural sound . . .
I can't hear anything today, can you,
But, far and near: 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!'
12.
"Friendship in Misfortune"
Text by Anonymous
Music by John Ireland
Give me the depth of love that springs
From friendship in misfortune grown,
As ivy to the ruin clings
When every other hope has flown.
Give me that fond confiding love
That nought but death itself can blight;
A flame that slander cannot move,
But burns in darkness doubly bright.
13.
"Great Things"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
Sweet cyder is a great thing,
A great thing to me,
Spinning down to Weymouth town
By Ridgway thirstily,
And maid and mistress summoning
Who tend the hostelry:
O cyder is a great thing,
A great thing to me!
The dance it is a great thing,
A great thing to me,
With candles lit and partners fit
For night-long revelry.
And going home when day-dawning
Peeps pale upon the lea:
O dancing is a great thing,
A great thing to me!
Love is, yea, a great thing,
A great thing to me,
When, having drawn across the lawn
In darkness silently,
A figure flits like one a-wing
Out from the nearest tree:
O love is, yes, a great thing,
Aye, greatest thing to me!
Will these be always great things
Greatest things to me? . . .
Let it befall that one will call
''Soul, I have need of thee'':
What then? Joy-jaunts, impassioned flings,
Love, and its ecstasy
Will always have been great things,
Greatest things to me!
14. "
'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town"
Text by Alfred Edward Housman (1859-1936), from A Shropshire Lad
Music by John Ireland, "Hawthorn Time"
See also:
Ivor Gurney (1890-1937), "'Tis
time, I think, by Wenlock town", from Ludlow and Teme, no. 3
John Jeffreys (b. 1927), "'Tis time, I think, by
Wenlock town"
Ernest John Moeran (1894-1950), "'Tis time, I
think, by Wenlock town"
Charles Wilfred Orr (1893-1976), "'Tis time, I
think, by Wenlock town"
Freda Swain (b. 1902), "'Tis time, I think, by
Wenlock town"
'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.
Spring will not wait the loiterer's time
Who keeps so long away;
So others wear the broom and climb
The hedgerows heaped with may.
Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge,
Gold that I never see;
Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge
That will not shower on me.
15. "Her
Song"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
I sang that song on Sunday,
To which an idle while,
I sang that song on Monday,
As fittest to beguile:
I sang it as the year outwore,
And the new slid in;
I thought not what might shape before
Another would begin.
I sang that song in summer,
All unforeknowingly,
To him as a new-comer
From regions strange to me:
I sang it when in afteryears
The shades stretched out,
And paths were faint; and flocking fears
Brought cup-eyed care and doubt.
Sings he that song on Sundays
In some dim land afar,
On Saturdays, or Mondays,
As when the evening star
Glimpsed in upon his bending face,
And my hanging hair,
And time untouched me with a trace
Of soul-smart or despair?
16.
"Hope the Hornblower"
Text by Sir Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)
Music by John Ireland
''Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
Sluggards awake, and front the morn!
Hark ye, hark to the winding horn;
The sun's on meadow and mill,
Follow me. hearts that love the chase;
Follow me, feet that keep the pace:
Stirrup to stirrup we ride, we ride,
We ride by moor and hill."
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away?
What is the quarry afoot today?
Huntsman, huntsman, whither away,
And what the game ye kill?
Is it the deer, that men may dine'?
Is it the wolf that tears the kine?
What is the race ye ride, ye ride,
Ye ride by moor and hill?
''Ask not yet till the day be dead
What is the game that's forward fled,
Ask not yet till the day be dead
The game we follow still.
An echo it may be, floating past;
A shadow it may be, fading fast:
Shadow or echo, we ride, we ride
We ride by moor and hill.''
17. "I
have twelve oxen that be fair and brown"
Text by Anonymous, early XVI century
Music by John Ireland, "I have twelve oxen"
See also:
Peter Warlock (Philip Arnold
Heseltine) (1894-1930), "Twelve Oxen", 1924, published 1924
I have twelve oxen that be fair and brown,
And they go a-grazing down by the town.
[With hey! with how! with hey!]
Sawest not you mine oxen, you little pretty boy?
I have twelve oxen, they be fair and white,
And they go a-grazing down by the dyke.
With hey! with how! with hey!
Sawest not you mine oxen, you little pretty boy?
I have twelve oxen, and they be fair and black,
And they go a-grazing down by the lake.
With hey! with how! with hey!
Sawest not you mine oxen, you little pretty boy?
I have twelve oxen, and they be fair and red,
And they go a-grazing down by the mead.
With hey! with how! with hey!
Sawest not you mine oxen, you little pretty boy?
18. "If
there were dreams to sell"
Text by Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803-1849)
Music by John Ireland
If there were dreams to sell,
What would you buy?
Some cost a passing bell;
Some a light sigh,
That shakes from Life's fresh crown
Only a rose-leaf down.
If there were dreams to sell,
Merry and sad to tell,
And the crier rang the bell,
What would you buy?
A cottage lone and still,
With bowers nigh,
Shadowy, my woes to still,
Until I die.
Such pearl from Life's fresh crown
Fain would I shake me down.
Were dreams to have at will,
This best would heal my ill,
This would I buy.
19. "If
we must part"
Text by Ernest Dowson (1867-1900)
Music by John Ireland
If we must part,
Then let it be like this.
Not heart on heart,
Nor with the useless anguish of a kiss;
But touch mine hand and say:
"Until to-morrow or some other day,
If we must part".
Words are so weak
When love hath been so strong;
Let silence speak:
''Life is a little while, and love is long;
A time to sow and reap,
And after harvest a long time to sleep,
But words are weak".
20. "In
Boyhood"
Text by Alfred Edward Housman (1859-1936)
Music by John Ireland
When I would muse in boyhood
The wild green woods among,
And nurse resolves and fancies
Because the world was young,
It was not foes to conquer,
Nor sweethearts to be kind,
But it was friends to die for
That I would seek and find.
I sought them far and found them,
The sure, the straight, the brave,
The hearts I lost my own to,
The souls I could not save.
They braced their belts about them,
They crossed in ships the sea,
They sought and found
Six feet of ground,
And there they died for me.
21. "In
my sage moments"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
In my sage moments I can say,
Come not near
But far in foreign regions stay,
So that here
A mind may grow again serene and clear.
But the thought withers. Why should I
Have fear to earn me
Fame from your nearness, though thereby
Old fires new burn me,
And lastly, maybe. tear and overturn me!
So I say, Come: deign again shine
Upon this place
Even if unslackened smart be mine
From that sweet face
And I faint to a phantom past all trace.
22. "It
was what you bore with you, Woman"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
It was what you bore with you, Woman,
Not inly were,
That throned you from all else human,
However fair!
It was that strange freshness you carried
Into a soul
Whereon no thought of yours tarried
Two moments at all.
And out from his spirit flew death,
And bale, and ban,
Like the corn-chaff under the breath
of the winnowing-fan.
23.
"Love and Friendship"
Text by Emily Brontë (1818-1848)
Music by John Ireland
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree -
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms'
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
It's summer blossoms scent the air.
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
24. "My
true love hath my heart"
Text by Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586) (this is not the full poem)
Music by John Ireland
My true love hath my heart and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a bargain better driven.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides:
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his because in me it bides.
25.
"Remember"
Text by Mary Coleridge (1861-1907)
Music by John Ireland
Some hang above the tombs,
Some weep in empty rooms,
I, when the iris blooms,
Remember.
26.
"Rest"
Text by Arthur Symons (1865-1945)
Music by John Ireland
The peace of a wandering sky,
Silence, only the cry
Of the crickets, suddenly still,
A bee on the window sill,
A bird's wing, rushing and soft,
Three flails that tramp in the loft,
Summer murmuring
Some sweet, slumberous thing,
Half asleep; but thou cease,
Heart, to hunger for peace,
Or, if thou must find rest,
Cease to beat in my breast.
27.
"Santa Chiara (Palm Sunday: Naples)"
Text by Arthur Symons (1865-1945)
Music by John Ireland
Because it is the day of Palms
Carry a palm for me,
Carry a palm in Santa Chiara
And I will watch the sea;
There are no palms in Santa Chiara
To-day or any day for me.
I sit and watch the little sail
Lean side-ways on the sea,
The sea is blue from here to Sorrento
And the sea-wind comes to me
And I see the white clouds lift from Sorrento
And the dark sail lean upon the sea.
I have grown tired of all these things,
And what is left for me?
I have no place in Santa Chiara
There is no peace upon the sea.
But carry a palm in Santa Chiara,
Carry a palm for me.
28. "Sea
Fever"
Text by John Masefield (1878-1967)
Music by John Ireland
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the seagulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted
knife;
And all I ask is a merry tale from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
29.
"Spring Sorrow"
Text by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)
Music by John Ireland
All suddenly the wind comes soft,
And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green
And my heart with buds of pain.
My heart all Winter lay so numb,
The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
Or my heart wake any more.
But Winter's broken and earth has woken
And the small birds cry again.
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
And my heart puts forth its pain.
30.
"Summer Schemes"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
When friendly summer calls again,
Calls again
Her little fifers to these hills,
We'll go - we two - to that arched fane
Of leafage where they prime their bills
Before they start to flood the plain
With quavers,, minims, shakes, and trills.
'- We'll go', I sing; but who shall say
What may not chance before that day!
And we shall see the waters spring,
Waters spring
From chinks the scrubby copses crown;
And we shall trace their oncreeping
To where the cascade tumbles down
And sends the bobbing growths aswing,
And ferns not quite but almost drown.
'- We shall', I say; but who may sing
Of what another moon will bring!
31. "The
Adoration"
Text by Arthur Symons (1865-1945)
Music by John Ireland
Why have you brought me myrrh,
And frankincense and gold?
Lay at the feet of her
Whom you have loved of old
Your frankincense and gold.
I have brought frankincense
And myrrh and gold to you,
From weary lands far hence
That I have journeyed through
To come at last to you.
I cannot take your gold
And frankincense and myrrh;
My heart was growing cold
While you were following her:
Take back your gold and myrrh.
Too late I come to you
With prayers of frankincense:
Pure gold, sweet myrrh, ye too,
Scorned, must go hence, far hence
As smoking frankincense.
32. "The
Bells of San Marie"
Text by John Masefield (1878-1967)
Music by John Ireland
It's pleasant in Holy Mary
By San Marie lagoon,
The bells they chime and jingle
From dawn to afternoon.
They rhyme and chime and mingle,
They pulse and boom and beat,
And the laughing bells are gentle
And the mournful bells are sweet.
Oh, who are the men that ring them,
The bells of San Marie,
Oh, who but the sonsie seamen
Come in from over sea.
And merrily in the belfries
They rock and sway and hale,
And send the bells a-jangle,
And down the lusty ale.
It's pleasant in Holy Mary
To hear the beaten bells
Come booming into music,
Which throbs, and clangs, and swells.
From sunset till the daybreak,
From dawn to afternoon,
In port of Holy Mary
On San Marie Lagoon.
33. "The
Sun at noon to higher air"
Text by Alfred Edward Housman (1859-1936), from A Shropshire Lad
Music by John Ireland, "The Heart's Desire"
See also:
Ivor Gurney (1890-1937), "The Sun
at noon to higher air", from The Western Playland, no. 8
[The Sun at noon to higher air,
Unharnessing the silver Pair
That late before his chariot swam,
Rides on the gold wool of the Ram.
So braver notes the storm-cock sings
To start the rusted wheel of things,
And brutes in field and brutes in pen
Leap that the world goes round again.]
The boys are up the woods with day
To fetch the daffodils away,
And home at noonday from the hills
They bring no dearth of daffodils.
Afield for palms the girls repair,
And sure enough the palms are there,
And each will find by hedge or pond
Her waving silver-tufted wand.
In farm and field through all the shire
The eye beholds the heart's desire;
Ah, let not only mine be vain,
For lovers should be loved again.
34. "The
Journey"
Text by Ernest Blake
Music by John Ireland
Do you see the road a-winding through the dear green fields below?
Hear the bridle-bells a-jingle on the horses as they go?
Then beside blue flashing rivers, where the tall reeds softly sing
Plaintive songs of weary Autumn, lyric carollings of Spring.
Down the sloped wild pines rush headlong, tossing each his ragged
plume,
Plunging all its life and glory in a shadowland of gloom;
But the shadows are but shadows. hark! the bells are jingling still;
See, it ends the journey, mounting where the sunlight's on the hill.
35. "The
Merry Month of May"
Text by Thomas Dekker (1570-1641)
Music by John Ireland
O, the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!
O, and then did I unto my true love say,
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer's Queen.
Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,
The sweetest singer in all the forest quire,
Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale:
Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a briar.
But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo;
See where she sitteth: come away, my joy:
Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo;
Should sing when my Peggy and I kiss and toy.
O, the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green;
And then did I unto my true love say,
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer's Queen.
36. "The
One Hope"
Text by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)
Music by John Ireland
When vain desire at last and vain regret
Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain,
What shall assuage the unforgotten pain
And teach the unforgetful to forget?
Shall Peace be still a sunk stream long unmet,
Or may the soul at once in a green plain
Stoop through the spray of some sweet life-fountain
And cull the dew-drenched flowering amulet?
Ah! when the wan soul in that golden air
Between the scriptured petals softly blown
Peers breathless for the gift of grace unknown, -
Ah! let none other alien spell soe'er
But only the one Hope's one name be there, -
Not less nor more, but even that word alone.
37. "The
Rat"
Text by Arthur Symons (1865-1945)
Music by John Ireland
Pain gnaws at my heart like a rat that gnaws at a beam
In the dusty dark of a ghost frequented house;
And I dream of the days forgotten, of love the dream.
The desire of her eyes unappeased, and the peace of her brows.
I can hear the old rat gnaw in the dark by night.
In the deep overshadowing dust that the years have cast;
He gnaws at my heart that is empty of all delight,
He stirs the dust where the feet of my dreams had passed.
38. "The
tragedy of that moment"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
The tragedy of that moment
Was deeper than the sea,
When I came in that moment
And heard you speak to me!
What I could not help seeing
Covered life as a blot;
Yes, that which I was seeing,
And knew that you were not!
39. "The
Trellis"
Text by Aldous Huxley (1894-1963)
Music by John Ireland
Thick-flowered is the trellis
That hides our joys
From prying eyes of malice
And all annoys,
And we lie rosily bowered.
Through the long afternoons
And evenings endlessly
Drawn out, when summer swoons
In perfume windlessly,
Sounds our light laughter.
With whispered words between
And silent kisses.
None but the flowers have seen
Our white caresses -
Flowers and the bright-eyed birds.
40.
"Tryst (In Fountain Court)"
Text by Arthur Symons (1865-1945)
Music by John Ireland
The fountain murmuring of sleep,
A drowsy tune;
The flickering green of leaves that keep
The light of June.
Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
The peace of June,
A waiting ghost, in the blue sky,
The white curved moon;
June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I
Wait too, with June.
Come, through the lingering afternoon,
Soon, love, come soon.
41.
"Tutto è sciolto"
Text by James Joyce (1882-1941)
Music by John Ireland
A birdless heaven, sea dusk, one lone star
Piercing the west,
As thou, fond heart, love's time, so faint, so far,
Rememberest.
The clear young eyes' soft look, the candid brow,
The fragrant hair,
Falling as through the silence falleth now
Dusk of the air.
Why then, remembering those shy
Sweet lures, repine
When the dear love she yielded with a sigh
Was all but thine?
42.
"Vagabond"
Text by John Masefield (1878-1967)
Music by John Ireland
Dunno a heap about the what and why,
Can't say's I ever knowed.
Heaven to me's a fair blue stretch of sky,
Earth's jest a dusty road.
Dunno the names o' thigs, nor what they are,
Can't say's I ever will.
Dunno about God - he's jest the noddin' star
Atop the windy hill.
Dunno about Life - it's jest a tramp alone,
From wakin'-time to doss.
Dunno about Death - it's jest a quiet stone
All over-grey wi' moss.
An' why I live, an' why the old world spins,
Are things I never knowed.
My mark's the gypsy fires, the lonely inns,
An' jest the dusty road.
43.
"Weathers"
Text by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
Music by John Ireland
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at 'The Traveller's Rest,'
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.
44.
"We'll to the Woods no more"
Text by Alfred Edward Housman (1859-1936), from Last Poems
Music by John Ireland
See also:
Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958), from Along the Field, no. 2
We'll to the Woods no more
The laurels all are cut,
The bowers are bare of bay
That once the Muses wore.
The year draws in the day
And soon will evening shut:
The laurels all are cut
We'll to the woods no more.
Oh, we'll no more, no more
To the leafy woods away,
To the high wild woods of laurel
And the bowers of bay no more.
45.
"What art thou thinking of?"
Text by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
Music by John Ireland
"What art thou thinking of," said the mother.
"What art thou thinking of, my child?"
"I am thinking of heaven," he answered her,
And looked up in her face and smiled.
"And what didst thou think of heaven?" she said:
"Tell me, my little one."
"Oh I thought that there the flowers never fade,
That there never sets the sun."
"And wouldst thou love to go thither, my child,
Thither wouldst thou love to go,
And leave the pretty flowers that wither,
And the sun that sets below?"
"Oh I would be glad to go there, mother,
To go and live there now;
And I would pray for thy coming, mother;
My mother wouldst not thou? wouldst not thou?"
46.
"When I am dead, my dearest"
Text by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
Music by John Ireland
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
47.
"When I am old"
Text by Ernest Dowson (1867-1900)
Music by John Ireland
When I am old,
And sadly steal apart,
Into the dark and cold,
Friend of my heart!
Remember, if you can,
Not him who lingers,
But that other man,
Who loved and sang,
And had a beating heart,
When I am old!
When I am old,
And all Love's ancient fire
Be tremulous and cold:
My soul's desire!
Remember, if you may,
Nothing of you and me
But yesterday,
When heart on heart
We bid the tears conspire
To make us old.
When I am old
And ev'ry star above
Be pitiless and cold:
My life's one love!
Forbid me not to go:
Remember nought of us
But long ago,
And not at last,
How love and pity strove
When I grew old.
48.
"When lights go rolling round the sky"
Text by James Vila Blake (1842-1925)
Music by John Ireland
When lights go rolling round the sky,
Then up my heart, then ope mine eye,
With Molly and Polly, And John so jolly -
Away say we, with melancholy, Heigh-ho and heigh-ho,
For me, for me's no melancholy.
First rolls the sun in rosy morn,
And wheels away what e'er's forlorn:
Then look I to my Molly, And, certes, John to Polly -
To each the girl, the love, the wife,
A rosy morn of rosy life: And so, and so, O ho, O ho,
When moves the early moon a-west,
We say the vesper time is best;
And then lead I my Molly, And cometh John with Polly
To sweet sequestered willow shade.
For such dear girls and lovers made: And so, and so, O ho, O ho,
|
