Rare is the voice itself: but when we sing To th' lute or viol, then 'tis ravishing.
A song (without and with accompaniment)
Set by Matthew King (b. 1967), "A song (without and with accompaniment)", 2006 [ soprano, mezzo-soprano soli, chorus, and orchestra ], from The Season of Singing, no. 4  [sung text checked 1 time]
Note: this setting is made up of several separate texts.
- by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674), "The voice and viol" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
So smooth, so sweet, so silv'ry is thy voice, As, could they hear, the Damned would make no noise, But listen to thee, walking in thy chamber, Melting melodious words to Lutes of Amber.
- by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674), "Upon Julia's voice" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me; Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings And pressing the small, poised [feet]1 of a mother who smiles as she sings. In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide. So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.2
- by D. H. (David Herbert) Lawrence (1885 - 1930), "Piano" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
See other settings of this text.View original text (without footnotes)
1 Warren: "foot"
2 Warren here repeats the firt line.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]