by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918)
The Cyclamen
Language: English
Over the plains where Persian hosts Laid down their lives for glory Flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts That witness to their story. Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow! On countless graves how sweet they grow! Or crimson, like the cruel wounds From which the life-blood, flowing, Poured out where now on grassy mounds The low, soft winds are blowing: Oh, fair! Oh, red! Like blood of slain; Not even time can cleanse that stain. But when my dear these blossoms holds, All loveliness her dower, All woe and joy the past enfolds In her find fullest flower. Oh, fair! Oh, pure! Oh, white and red! If she but live, what are the dead!
Authorship:
- by Arlo Bates (1850 - 1918), "The Cyclamen", first published <<1900 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by George Whitefield Chadwick (1854 - 1931), "The Cyclamen", 1892 [ voice and piano ], from A Flower Cycle, no. 4 [sung text checked 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2009-06-17
Line count: 18
Word count: 115