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The LiederNet Archive

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Prospero's Vision

Language: English

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd: be cheerful, sir.
[Our revels now are ended.]1 These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex'd;
[Bear with my weakness; my, brain is troubled:
Be not disturb'd with my infirmity:
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose:]1 a turn or two I'll walk,
To still my beating mind.


Translation(s): FRE ITA

List of language codes

View original text (without footnotes)
1 omitted by Saariaho.

Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]

Authorship


Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

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


Text added to the website: 2010-01-21 00:00:00.

Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:03:31

Line count: 18
Word count: 137

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Il volto tuo

Language: Italian (Italiano) after the English

Il volto tuo,
Figlio, mi svela il tuo terror. Finiti
Ecco i nostri diporti; e le apparenze
Che li eseguìr non son, come ti dissi,
Altro che Spirti, e dileguàr d’un tratto. ―
Come il vuoto edificio e senza base
Di questa visïon nell’aer lieve
Sparì, così le torri, a cui la cima
Talor velan le nubi, i mäestosi
Palagi, i templi venerandi e tutto
L’orbe terreno e ciò che in lui s’accoglie,
Quando che sia dileguerà, nè traccia
Lascierà dietro a sè più che non v’abbia
Quest’aereo spettacolo lasciata.
Della vacua sustanza, o buon Fernando,
Onde i sogni son fatti, è l’uom composto,
Ed involta nel sonno è la fugace
Nostra esistenza. ― Afflitto io son. Perdona!
La fralezza mi vince, ed è l’antica
Mia mente oppressa; tuttavia di questo
Non ti accorar: durevole malore
Non è. Va’ nella grotta, e ti riposa.
Muterò per l’aperto alcuni passi,
E spero ridonar la consueta
Calma al mio core.


About the headline (FAQ)

Submitted by Andrew Schneider [Guest Editor]

Authorship


Based on

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)

    [ None yet in the database ]


Text added to the website: 2019-05-09 00:00:00.

Last modified: 2019-05-09 02:33:14

Line count: 25
Word count: 158