From low to high doth dissolution climb, And sink from high to low, along a scale Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail; A musical but melancholy chime, Which they can hear who meddle not with crime, Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care. Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear The longest date do melt like frosty rime, That in the morning whitened hill and plain And is no more; drop like the tower sublime Of yesterday, which royally did wear His crown of weeds, but could not ev'n sustain Some casual shout that broke the silent air, Or the unimaginable touch of Time.
From a Watchtower
Song Cycle by Jack Hamilton Beeson (b. 1921)
1. Mutability  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850), "Mutability"
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]2. Ballad: O What Is That Sound?  [sung text not yet checked]
O what is that sound which so thrills the ear Down in the valley drumming, drumming? Only the scarlet soldiers, dear, The soldiers coming. O what is that light I see flashing so clear Over the distance brightly, brightly? Only the sun on their weapons, dear, As they step lightly. O what are they doing with all that gear, What are they doing this morning, morning? Only their usual manoeuvres, dear, Or perhaps a warning. O why have they left the road down there, Why are they suddenly wheeling, wheeling? Perhaps a change in their orders, dear, Why are you kneeling? O haven't they stopped for the doctor's care, Haven't they reined their horses, horses? Why, they are none of them wounded, dear, None of these forces. O is it the parson they want, with white hair, Is it the parson, is it, is it? No, they are passing his gateway, dear, Without a visit. O it must be the farmer that lives so near. It must be the farmer so cunning, so cunning? They have passed the farmyard already, dear, And now they are running. O where are you going? Stay with me here! Were the vows you swore deceiving, deceiving? No, I promised to love you, dear, But I must be leaving. O it's broken the lock and splintered the door, O it's the gate where they're turning, turning; Their boots are heavy on the floor And their eyes are burning.
Authorship:
- by W. H. (Wystan Hugh) Auden (1907 - 1973), "Ballad", from New Verse, December 1934, revised 1945, revised 1958
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Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada, but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]3. Heaven‑Haven  [sung text not yet checked]
I have desired to go Where springs not fail, To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail And a few lilies blow. And I have asked to be Where no storms come, Where the green swell is in the havens dumb, And out of the swing of the sea.
Authorship:
- by Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844 - 1889), "Heaven-Haven", subtitle: "A nun takes the veil", appears in Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse, first published 1895
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Bertram Kottmann) , subtitle: "Sie geht ins Kloster", copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
4. Ballad: O where are you going?  [sung text not yet checked]
O where are you going? said reader to rider, That valley is fatal when furnaces burn, Yonders the midden whose odors will madden, That gap is the grave where the tall return. O do you imagine, said fearer to farer, That dusk will delay on your path to the pass, Your diligent looking discover the lacking, Your footsteps feel from granite to grass? O what was that bird, said horror to hearer, Did you see that shape in the twisted tree? Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly, The spot on your skin is a shocking disease. Out of this house said rider to reader, Yours never will said farer to fearer, Theyre looking for you said hearer to horror, As he left them there, as he left them there.
Authorship:
- by W. H. (Wystan Hugh) Auden (1907 - 1973)
See other settings of this text.
Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada, but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]5. The listeners  [sung text not yet checked]
'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller's head: And he smote upon the door again a second time; 'Is there anybody there?' he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call. And he felt in his heart their strangeness, Their stillness answering his cry, While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, 'Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even Louder, and lifted his head: -- 'Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word,' he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Authorship:
- by Walter De la Mare (1873 - 1956), "The listeners", appears in The Listeners and Other Poems, first published 1912
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Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada and the U.S., but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]