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I met at eve the Prince of sleep, His was a still and lovely face; He wander'd through a valley steep, Lovely in a lonely place. His garb was grey of lavender, About his head a poppy wreath Burned like dim coals, And everywhere The air was sweeter for his breath. His twilight feet no sandals wore, His eyes shone faint in their own flame, Fair moths that gloomed his steps before Seemed letters of his lovely name. His house is in the mountain ways, A phantom house of misty walls, Whose golden flocks at evening graze, And witch the moon with muffled calls. Upwelling from his shadowy springs Sweet waters shake a trembling sound, There flit the hoot owl's silent wings, There hath his web the silk worm wound. Dark in his pools clear visions lurk, And rosy, as with morning buds, Along his dales of broom and birk Dreams haunt his solitary woods.
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Text Authorship:
- by Walter De la Mare (1873 - 1956), "I met at eve" [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Edward Elgar, Sir (1857 - 1934), "The prince of sleep", 1925 [ SATB chorus ] [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- DUT Dutch (Nederlands) (Frans Beems) , "De prins der slaap", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Martin Stock) , "Der Fürst des Schlafs", copyright © 2002, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Martin Stock
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 25
Word count: 155
Am Abend traf ich den Fürst des Schlafs, ruhig und lieblich war sein Antlitz; er schritt durch ein tiefes Tal, lieblich an einem einsamen Ort. Sein Gewand war Lavendel-Grau, um seinen Kopf ein Kranz von Mohn brannte wie schwache Kohlenglut, und überall hing schwer sein süßer Odem in der Luft. Barfüßig schritt er durchs Dämmerlicht, schwach glomm die Flamme seiner Augen; schöne Nachtfalter, seine Schritte verdunkelnd, schrieben seinen lieblichen Namen. Sein Haus ist droben in den Bergen, ein Schattenhaus, mit Wänden von Nebel, dessen goldene Herden am Abend grasen und den Mond mit dumpfen Rufen behexen. Aus seinen schattigen Quellen wallen süße Wasser mit bebendem Ton; dort fliegt die Eule auf lautlosen Schwingen, die Seidenraupe hat dort ihr Gespinst gesponnen. In seinen dunklen Tümpeln lauern Gesichte; Und rosig, so wie Morgenknospen, geistern entlang seiner Ginster- und Birkentäler Träume durch seine einsamen Wälder.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2002 by Martin Stock, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in English by Walter De la Mare (1873 - 1956), "I met at eve"
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 25
Word count: 143