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From the Blake Collection, op. 42 and op. 50

Song Cycle by Felix Werder (b. 1922)

1. The sick rose   [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

Text Authorship:

  • by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "The sick rose", appears in Songs of Innocence and Experience, in Songs of Experience, no. 9, first published 1794

See other settings of this text.

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

  • CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "La rosa malalta", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • FRE French (Français) (Jean-Pierre Granger) , "La rose malade", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • GER German (Deutsch) (Walter A. Aue) , "Die erkrankte Rose", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • GER German (Deutsch) (Bertram Kottmann) , "Die kranke Rose", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • IRI Irish (Gaelic) [singable] (Gabriel Rosenstock) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • NYN Norwegian (Nynorsk) (Are Frode Søholt) , "Elegi", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • RUS Russian (Русский) [singable] (Dmitri Nikolaevich Smirnov) , "Больная роза", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
  • SPA Spanish (Español) (Pablo Sabat) , "Elegía"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

2. Spring   [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Sound the Flute!
Now [it's]1 mute.
Birds delight
Day and Night.
Nightingale
In the dale,
Lark in Sky, 2
Merrily, 
Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year.

Little Boy,
Full of Joy;
Little Girl,
Sweet and small.
Cock does crow,
So do you.
Merry voice
Infant noise
Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year.

Little Lamb
Here I am,
Come and [lick
My white neck]3.
Let me pull
Your soft Wool.
Let me kiss
Your soft face.
Merrily Merrily [we]4 welcome in the Year.

Text Authorship:

  • by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "Spring", appears in Songs of Innocence and Experience, in Songs of Innocence, no. 15, first published 1789

See other settings of this text.

View original text (without footnotes)

Confirmed with William Blake, Songs of Innocence, 1789.

1 MacNutt: "'tis"
2 Dougherty adds: "Out of sight"
3 MacNutt: "play/ Hours away"
4 MacNutt: "to"

Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Garrett Medlock [Guest Editor]

3. Piping down  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Piping down the valleys wild,
  Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
  And he laughing said to me:

"Pipe a song about a lamb."
  So I piped with merry chear.
"Piper, pipe that song again."
  So I piped: he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
  Sing thy songs of happy chear."
So I sang the same again,
  While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write
  In a book, that all may read."
So he vanished from my sight;
  And I pluck'd a hollow reed.

And I made a rural pen,
  And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
  Every child may joy to hear.

Text Authorship:

  • by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "Introduction", appears in Songs of Innocence and Experience, in Songs of Innocence, no. 1, first published 1789

See other settings of this text.

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

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

Researcher for this page: Ted Perry

4. Mad song   [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
The wild winds weep
  And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
  And my griefs unfold:
But lo! the morning peeps
  Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling birds of dawn
  The earth do scorn. 

Lo! to the vault
  Of paved heaven,
With sorrow fraught
  My notes are driven:
They strike the ear of night,
  Make weep the eyes of day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
  And with tempests play. 

Like a fiend in a cloud,
  With howling woe,
After night I do crowd,
  And with night will go;
I turn my back to the east,
From whence comforts have increas'd;
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.

Text Authorship:

  • by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "Mad song"

See other settings of this text.

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

  • CAT Catalan (Català) (Salvador Pila) , "Cançó esbojarrada", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

Note: said to have been written by Blake at the age of fourteen. First published in Poetical Sketches, 1783. In later editions of the poem, the word "unfold" in stanza 1, line 4 was changed to "infold".


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

5. Infant sorrow   [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
My mother groaned, my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt;
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.

Text Authorship:

  • by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "Infant sorrow", appears in Songs of Innocence and Experience, in Songs of Experience, no. 20, first published 1794

See other settings of this text.

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

6. Leave, O leave me  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Leave, O leave me to my sorrows;
Here I'll sit and fade away,
Till I'm nothing but a spirit,
And I lose this form of clay.

Then if chance along this forest
Any walk in pathless ways,
Thro' the gloom he'll see my shadow
Hear my voice upon the breeze.

Text Authorship:

  • by William Blake (1757 - 1827), no title, appears in An Island in the Moon, Chapter XI

See other settings of this text.

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

7. Thou hast a lap full of seed  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Thou hast a lap full of seed,
And this is a fine country,
Why dost thou not cast thy seed,
And live in it merrily?
 
Shall I cast it on the sand
And turn it into fruitful land?
For on no other ground
Can I sow my seed,
Without tearing up
Some stinking weed.

Text Authorship:

  • by William Blake (1757 - 1827), "Thou hast a lap full of seed", appears in Poems from the Rossetti Manuscript

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Total word count: 503
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