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The LiederNet Archive

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Songs of Love and Music

Word count: 396

Song Cycle by Irwin Spector (b. 1916)

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?. At that hour when all things have repose [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): FRE

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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


At that hour when all things have repose,
    O lonely watcher of the skies, 
    Do you hear the night wind and the sighs 
Of harps playing unto Love to unclose
    The pale gates of sunrise?

When all things repose, do you alone
    Awake to hear the sweet harps play 
    To Love before him on his way, 
And the night wind answering in antiphon
    Till night is overgone?

Play on, invisible harps, unto Love,
    Whose way in heaven is aglow 
    At that hour when soft lights come and go, 
Soft sweet music in the air above
    And in the earth below.


Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

?. Strings in the earth and air [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): FRE HUN POL

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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Strings in the earth and air 
  Make music sweet; 
Strings by the river where 
  The willows meet. 

There's music along the river 
  [For Love wanders there,]1
Pale [flowers]1 on his mantle, 
  Dark leaves on his hair. 

All softly playing, 
  With head to [the]3 music bent, 
And fingers straying 
  Upon an instrument.


View original text (without footnotes)
1 not set by Berio.
2 Coulthard: "flow'rs"
3 omitted by Coulthard

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

?. My dove, my beautiful one [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): FRE POL

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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


My dove, my beautiful one, 
  Arise, arise! 
  The night-dew lies 
Upon my lips and eyes. 

The odorous winds are weaving 
  A music of sighs: 
  Arise, arise, 
My dove, my beautiful one! 

I wait by the cedar tree, 
  My sister, my love. 
  White breast of the dove, 
My breast shall be your bed. 

The pale dew lies 
  Like a veil on my head. 
  My fair one, my fair dove, 
Arise, arise!1


View original text (without footnotes)
1 Szymanowski adds "My dove, my beautiful one!"

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

?. Lean out of the window [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): FRE IRI POL

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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • IRI Irish (Gaelic) [singable] (Gabriel Rosenstock) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Lean out of the window,
  Goldenhair,
I heard you singing
  A merry air.

My book is closed;
  I read no more,
Watching the fire dance
  On the floor.

I have left my book,
  I have left my room,
For I heard you singing
  Through the gloom,

Singing and singing
  A merry air.
Lean out of the window,
  Goldenhair.


Submitted by Ted Perry

?. Now, O now, in this brown land [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): FRE

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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Now, O now, in this brown land
    Where Love did so sweet music make 
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
    Forbearing for old friendship' sake, 
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.

A rogue in red and yellow dress
    Is knocking, knocking at the tree; 
And all around our loneliness
    The wind is whistling merrily. 
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.

Now, O now, we hear no more
    The vilanelle and roundelay! 
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
    We take sad leave at close of day. 
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- -
The year, the year is gathering.


Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

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