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To Autumn, and To Winter

Word count: 283

Song Cycle by Bruce Stuart Saylor (b. 1946)

Show the texts alone (bare mode).

1. To Autumn [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): DAN GER RUS

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

  • GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , "Dem Herbste", copyright © 2013, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • RUS Russian (Русский) [singable] (Dmitri Nikolaevich Smirnov) , "К Осени", first published 1979, copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers. 

The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.

The spirits of the air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees."
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.


Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

2. To Winter [ sung text not yet checked against a primary source]

Language: English

Translation(s): RUS

List of language codes

Authorship

See other settings of this text.

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

  • RUS Russian (Русский) [singable] (Dmitri Nikolaevich Smirnov) , "К Зиме", first published 1979, copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


"O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car."

He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed
In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes,
For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and in his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.

He takes his seat upon the cliffs, -- the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch, that deal'st
With storms! -- till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.


Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

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