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Twelve Tennyson Poems

Word count: 297

Song Cycle by Arthur Somervell, Sir (1863 - 1937)

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?. Crossing the Bar [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

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Sunset and evening star,
    And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
    When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
    Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
    Turns again home!

Twilight and evening bell,
    And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
    When I embark;

For though from out our bourn of Time and Place
    The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
    When I have crost the bar.


Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

?. Dainty little maiden [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): WEL

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Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
    Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,
    Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells."

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
    Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,
    Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."


First published without a title in St. Nicholas, February 1880 as one of the "Child Songs", revised 1884

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

?. The nightingale [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

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Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn:
It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond
Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond
Stares. And you sing, you sing.
 
That star-enchanted song falls through the air
From lawn to lawn down terraces of sound,
Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground;
And all the night you sing.
 
My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee
As all night long I listen, and my brain
Receives your song; then loses it again
In moonlight on the lawn.
 
Now is your voice a marble high and white,
Then like a mist on fields of paradise,
Now is a raging fire, then is like ice,
Then breaks, and it is dawn.


Submitted by Ferdinando Albeggiani

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