When westward I'm called, 'Tis not east I'll be going. Should I sup the salt wave With the pure spring to hand, Or prefer the base weed To the richest rose blowing, Or not follow my own love The first through the land. Oh, my heart is a fountain Of sorrow unspoken, A virgin nut-cluster Untimely down torn! And oh, but my heart Flutters bleeding and broken, Like a bird beating out Its wild life on a thorn. His cheek is the hue Of the blackberry blossom, And blackberry blue His dark tresses above; And I'm cryin' without Who should lie in his bosom And I doubt and I doubt If he's true to his love. 'Tis time I should part you, Proud, hurrying City; For your tongues they cut sharper By far than your stone, And your hearts than that same Are more hardened to pity; So my love I'll go seeking, Alone, all alone!
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931) [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 Charles Villiers Stanford, Sir (1852 - 1924), "Alone, all alone", op. 76 no. 46, published 1901 [voice and piano], from Songs of Erin, no. 46, London, Boosey [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Mike Pearson
This text was added to the website: 2016-09-13
Line count: 32
Word count: 156