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He drowsed and was aware of silence heaped Round him, unshaken as the steadfast walls; Aqueous like floating rays of amber light, Soaring and quivering in the wings of sleep. Silence and safety; and his mortal shore Lipped by the inward, moonless waves of death. Someone was holding water to his mouth. He swallowed, unresisting; moaned and dropped Through crimson gloom to darkness; and forgot The opiate throb and ache that was his wound. Water -- calm, sliding green above the weir. Water -- a sky-lit alley for his boat, Bird-voiced, and bordered with reflected flowers And shaken hues of summer; drifting down, He dipped contented oars, and sighed, and slept. Night, with a gust of wind, was in the ward, Blowing the curtain to a glimmering curve. Night. He was blind; he could not see the stars Glinting among the wraiths of wandering cloud; Queer blots of colour, purple, scarlet, green, Flickered and faded in his drowning eyes. Rain -- he could hear it rustling through the dark; Fragrance and passionless music woven as one; Warm rain on drooping roses; pattering showers That soak the woods; not the harsh rain that sweeps Behind the thunder, but a trickling peace, Gently and slowly washing life away. * * * * He stirred, shifting his body; then the pain Leapt like a prowling beast, and gripped and tore His groping dreams with grinding claws and fangs. But someone was beside him; soon he lay Shuddering because that evil thing had passed. And death, who'd stepped toward him, paused and stared. Light many lamps and gather round his bed. Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live. Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet. He's young; he hated War; how should he die When cruel old campaigners win safe through? But death replied: "I choose him." So he went, And there was silence in the summer night; Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep. Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.
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Confirmed with Siegfried Sassoon, THE OLD HUNTSMAN and other poems, William Heinemann, London, 1918, page 94
Authorship:
- by Siegfried Lorraine Sassoon (1886 - 1967), "The Death-Bed", appears in The Old Huntsman and Other Poems, first published 1917 [author's text checked 2 times 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 Harold Blumenfeld (b. 1923), "The Death-Bed", published 1971 [ SATB chorus a cappella ], from Songs of War [sung text not yet checked]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Le lit de mort", copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Pierre Mathé [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2008-10-19
Line count: 43
Word count: 333
Il somnolait et avait conscience du silence grandissant Autour de lui, inébranlable, comme un mur à toute épreuve ; Aqueux comme les rayons flottants d'une lumière ambrée, Jaillissant et frissonnant sur les ailes du sommeil, – Silence et sécurité ; et son rivage mortel Bordé par les vagues intérieures et sans lune de la mort. Quelqu'un portait de l'eau à sa bouche. Il avalait sans résistance, gémissait et retombait, Passant de l'ombre cramoisie à l'obscurité, et oubliait L'élancement opiacé et la douleur de sa blessure. De l'eau – calme, verte, glissant par-dessus le barrage. De l'eau – une allée éclairée par le soleil pour son bateau, Emplie de voix d'oiseaux et bordée par le reflet des fleurs Et les nuances agitées de l'été ; descendant lentement, Content, il plongeait les rames, et soupira et dormit. La nuit entra dans la chambre avec une rafale de vent, Jetant une faible lueur sur le galbe du rideau. Nuit. Il était aveugle ; il ne pouvait voir les étoiles Étincelant parmi les spectres de nuages vagabonds ; Des taches de couleurs bizarres, violettes, pourpres, vertes Vacillaient et s'éteignaient dans ses yeux de noyé. Pluie – il pouvait l'entendre bruire dans le noir ; Parfum et musique indifférente entremêlés ; Pluie chaude sur des roses penchées, averses bavardes Qui trempent les bois, différentes des âpres pluies Suivant les orages, mais gouttes apaisantes Emportant la vie doucement et gentiment. * * * * Il s'agita, remuant son corps ; puis la douleur Bondit comme bête, et de ses pinces et crocs acérés serra et déchira ses rêves tâtonnants. Mais quelqu'un était à ses côtés ; il reposa bientôt Frémissant après le passage de cette funeste chose. Et la mort qui avançait vers lui fit une pause et le fixa. Allumez de nombreuses lampes et faites cercle autour de son lit. Prêtez-lui vos yeux, votre sang chaud et votre volonté de vivre. Parlez-lui ; réveillez-le ; vous pouvez encore le sauver. Il est jeune ; il haïssait la guerre ; pourquoi devrait-il mourir Quand de cruels vétérans réussissent à passer au travers ? Mais la Mort répondit : « Je l'ai choisi. » Alors il s'en alla, Et il y eut le silence dans la nuit d'été ; Le silence et la sécurité ; et les voiles du sommeil. Puis, très loin, le bruit sourd des canons.
Authorship:
- Translation from English to French (Français) copyright © 2017 by Pierre Mathé, (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 Siegfried Lorraine Sassoon (1886 - 1967), "The Death-Bed", appears in The Old Huntsman and Other Poems, first published 1917
This text was added to the website: 2017-01-05
Line count: 43
Word count: 391