When primroses are out in Spring, And small, blue violets come between; When merry birds sing on boughs green, And rills, as soon as born, must sing; When butterflies will make side-leaps, As though escaped from Nature's hand Ere perfect quite; and bees will stand Upon their heads in fragrant deeps; When small clouds are so silvery white Each seems a broken rimmèd moon -- When such things are, this world too soon, For me, doth wear the veil of Night.
Twelve Madrigals
Song Cycle by Antony Garlick (b. 1927)
?. Days too short  [sung text not yet checked]
Authorship:
- by William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940), "Days too short", appears in Songs of Joy and Others, first published 1911
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]?. Northern light
Here under Heaven ringed . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
currently in the database but will be
added as soon as we obtain it. —
Authorship:
- by Leonard Alfred George Strong (1896 - 1958), "Northern light", appears in Northern Light, first published 1930
See other settings of this text.
?. The moon  [sung text not yet checked]
Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul, Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright; Thy beauty makes me like the child That cries aloud to own thy light: The little child that lifts each arm To press thee to her bosom warm. Though there are birds that sing this night With thy white beams across their throats, Let my deep silence speak for me More than for them their sweetest notes: Who worships thee till music fails, Is greater than thy nightingales.
Authorship:
- by William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940), "The moon", appears in The Bird of Paradise and Other Poems, first published 1914
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]?. The happy child  [sung text not yet checked]
I saw this day sweet flowers grow thick -- But not one like the child did pick. I heard the packhounds in green park -- But no dog like the child heard bark. I heard this day bird after bird -- But not one like the child has heard. A hundred butterflies saw I -- But not one like the child saw fly. I saw the horses roll in grass -- But no horse like the child saw pass. My world this day has lovely been -- But not like what the child has seen.
Authorship:
- by William Henry Davies (1871 - 1940), "The happy child", appears in Songs of Joy and Others, first published 1911
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]?. I am tired of the wind  [sung text not yet checked]
I am tired of the wind Oh, wind, wind, be quiet . . . I am burdened by the days Of wailing and long riot. The heavy trees are thinned ; The clouds lose their ways . . . There's no rest in my mind. When the wind falls the rain falls ; The air has no more breath. The ceaseless " Hush " of rain Is what eternity saith. The hills grown near and tall Let down a misty mane . . . Endlessness weighs on all.
Authorship:
- by Gordon Bottomley (1874 - 1948), no title, appears in Chambers of Imagery, in Night and Morning Songs, no. 2, first published 1912
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]2. Nurse's song  [sung text not yet checked]
When the voices of children are heard on the green And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast And everything else is still. "Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down And the dews of night arise; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away Till the morning appears in the skies." "No, no, let us play, for it is yet day And we cannot go to sleep; Besides, in the sky the little birds fly And the hills are all cover'd with sheep." "Well, well, go & play till the light fades away And then go home to bed." The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh'd And all the hills echoed.
Authorship:
- by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "Nurse's song", appears in Songs of Innocence and Experience, in Songs of Innocence, no. 16, first published 1789
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]7. To Spring  [sung text not yet checked]
O Thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the list'ning Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth, And let thy holy feet visit our clime. Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee. O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head, Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.
Authorship:
- by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "To Spring"
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Jaroslav Vrchlický) , "Jaru"
- GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , "Dir, Lenz", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- RUS Russian (Русский) [singable] (Dmitri Nikolaevich Smirnov) , "К Весне", first published 1979, copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission