I. I little know or care If the blackbird on the bough Is filling all the air With his soft crescendo now; For she is gone away, And when she went she took The springtime in her look, The peachblow on her cheek, The laughter from the brook, The blue from out the May - And what she calls a week Is forever and a day! II. It's little that I mind How the blossoms, pink or white, At every touch of wind Fall a-trembling with delight; For in the leafy lane, Beneath the garden boughs, And through the silent house One thing alone I seek. Until she come again The May is not the May, And what she calls a week Is forever and a day!
Twelve Songs , opus 12
by Henry Kimball Hadley (1871 - 1937)
1. Forever and a Day  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
Authorship:
- by Thomas Bailey Aldrich (1836 - 1907), "Forever and a day", appears in Poems, first published 1897
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]4. Two sapphires
Language: English
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Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Based on:
- a text in German (Deutsch) by Heinrich Heine (1797 - 1856), no title, appears in Buch der Lieder, in Die Heimkehr, no. 56
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11. With a pressed flower  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
This little blossom from afar Hath come from other lands to thine; For, once, its white and drooping star Could see its shadow in the Rhine. Perchance some fair-haired German maid Hath plucked one from the selfsame stalk, And numbered over, half afraid, Its petals in her evening walk. 'He loves me, loves me not,' she cries; 'He loves me more than earth or heaven!' And then glad tears have filled her eyes To find the number was uneven. And thou must count its petals well, Because it is a gift from me; And the last one of all shall tell Something I've often told to thee. But here at home, where we were born, Thou wilt find blossoms just as true, Down-bending every summer morn, With freshness of New England dew. For Nature, ever kind to love, Hath granted them the same sweet tongue, Whether with German skies above, Or here our granite rocks among.
Authorship:
- by James Russell Lowell (1819 - 1891), "With a pressed flower", from Poems, Vol. I, first published 1849
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]