Will he come to us out of the west With hair all blowing free ? Will he come, the last and best, Over the flowing sea, Prophet of days to be ? Aye, he will come; the unseen choir Attend his steps with song, And on his breast a deep toned lyre, And on his lips a word like fire To burn the ancient wrong. Bay crowned and goodlier than a king; With voice both strong and sweet The song of freedom will he sing And I from out of the crowd shall fling My rose-wreath at his feet.
English Lyrics, Eighth Set
by Charles Hubert Hastings Parry, Sir (1848 - 1918)
1. Whence  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by Julian Sturgis (1848 - 1904), "Whence"
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Researcher for this page: John Fowler2. Nightfall in winter  [sung text checked 1 time]
Cold is the air, The woods are bare And brown; the herd Stand in the yard. The frost doth fall; And round the hill The hares move slow; The homeward crow, Alone and high, Crosses the sky All silently. The quick streams freeze; The moving trees Are still; for now No breeze will blow: The wind has gone With the day, down, And clouds are come Bearing the gloom. The yellow grass In the clear glass Of the bright pool Grows soft and dull. The water's eye That held the sky Now glazes quite; And now the light On the cold hill Fadeth, until The giant mass Doth seem to pass From near to far; The clouds obscure The sky with gloom: The night is come, The night is come.
Authorship:
- by Langdon Elwyn Mitchell (1862 - 1935)
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Researcher for this page: Ted Perry3. Marian  [sung text checked 1 time]
And wiser when she wishes; She can knit with cunning wit, And dress the homely dishes. She can flourish staff or pen, And deal a wound that lingers, She can talk the talk of men, And touch with thrilling fingers. Match her ye across the sea, Natures fond and fiery; Ye who zest the turtle's nest With the eagle's eyrie. Soft and loving is her soul, Swift and lofty soaring; Mixing with its dove-like dole Passionate adoring. Such a she who'll match with me ? In flying or persuing, Subtle wiles are in her smiles To set a world a wooing. She is steadfast as a star And yet the maddest maiden: She can wage a gallant war, And give the peace of Eden.
Authorship:
- by George Meredith (1828 - 1909), appears in Modern Love, first published 1862
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Researcher for this page: John Fowler4. Dirge in woods  [sung text checked 1 time]
A wind sways the pines, And below Not a breath of wild air; Still as the mosses that glow On the flooring and over the lines Of the roots here and there. The pine-tree drops its dead; They are quiet, as under the sea. Overhead, overhead Rushes life in a race, As the clouds the clouds chase; And we go, And we drop like the fruits of the tree, Even we, Even so.
Authorship:
- by George Meredith (1828 - 1909), "Dirge in woods"
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First published in Fortnightly Review, August 1870Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
5. Looking backward  [sung text checked 1 time]
O my child love, my love of long ago, How great was life when thou and I were young ! The world was boundless, For we did not know; A life, a poem, For we had not sung. Now is the world grown small and we thereon Fill with mere care and toil each narrow day; Elves from the wood, Dreams from my heart are gone And heaven is bare, for God is far away. Canst thou not come and touch my hand again, And I look on thee with grave and inocent eyes ? Thy God has many angels; I would fain Woo for one hour One angel from the skies. O my child love, come back come back to me, And, laughing, lead me from the toil and din ! Lay on my heart those small hands tenderly And let the whole world in.
Authorship:
- by Julian Sturgis (1848 - 1904), "Looking backwards"
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Researcher for this page: John Fowler6. Come, boy Bacchus  [sung text checked 1 time]
Come, boy Bacchus, a bunch of grapes, The bunch you dearest treasure ! 'Twill fill my soul with exquisite shapes, For well I know the pleasure Of a rich ripe grape slow pressed in the mouth Bringing me dreams of the lusty South, Of sunbrown youth And sun-bright maiden And all a laughing, And all a laden with grapes, grapes, grapes, grapes, beyond all measure ! And all a laughing And all a laden with grapes, grapes, grapes, beyond all measure.
Authorship:
- by Julian Sturgis (1848 - 1904)
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Researcher for this page: John Fowler