To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, -- to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with hearts content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gentle tale of love and languishment? Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel, -- an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, He mourns that day so soon has glided by: E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently.
Sonnets for Baritone and Orchestra
Song Cycle by Vivian Fine (1913 - 2000)
1. To one who has been long in city pent  [sung text not yet checked]
- by John Keats (1795 - 1821), no title, appears in Poems, first published 1817 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Per chi molto tempo restò nelle città rinchiuso", copyright © 2009, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
2. On the sea  [sung text not yet checked]
It keeps eternal whisperings around Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell Gluts twice ten thousand Caverns, till the spell Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound. Often 'tis in such gentle temper found, That scarcely will the very smallest shell Be moved for days from where it sometime fell. When last the winds of Heaven were unbound. Oh, ye! who have your eyeballs vexed and tired, Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea; Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude, Or fed too much with cloying melody--- Sit ye near some old Cavern's Mouth and brood, Until ye start, as if the sea nymphs quired!
- by John Keats (1795 - 1821), "On the sea", written 1817 [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
3. To a cat  [sung text not yet checked]
Cat! who hast pass'd thy grand cliacteric, How many mice and rats hast in thy days Destroy'd? - How many tit bits stolen? Gaze With those bright languid segments green, and prick Those velvet ears - but pr'ythee do not stick Thy latent talons in me - and upraise Thy gentle mew - and tell me all thy frays Of fish and mice, and rats and tender chick. Nay, look not down, nor lick thy dainty wrists - For all the wheezy asthma, - and for all Thy tail's tip is nick'd off - and though the fists Of many a maid have given thee many a mail, Still is that fur as soft as when the lists In youth thou enter'dst on glass bottled wall.
- by John Keats (1795 - 1821), "Sonnet to a cat" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]