Eleven o'clock, and the curtain falls. The cold wind tears the strands of illusion; The delicate music is lost In the blare of home-going crowds And a midnight paper. The night has grown martial; It meets us with blows and disaster. Even the stars have turned shrapnel, Fixed in silent explosions. And here at our door The moonlight is laid Like a drawn sword.
- by Louis Untermeyer (1885 - 1977), "End of the Comedy" [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 Gary Bachlund (b. 1947), "End of the Comedy", 2008 [medium voice and piano] [ sung text checked 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2009-03-06
Line count: 12
Word count: 64