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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
Gisteravond trof ik de Prins der Slaap, Rustig en lieflijk was zijn gezicht; Hij schreed door een steil dal, Lieflijk op een eenzame plek. Zijn mantel was lavendelgrijs, Rond zijn hoofd een krans van klaprozen Brandend als de gloed van kolenvuur, En overal Hing zijn zoete adem in de lucht. Blootsvoets schreed hij door het schemerlicht, Zwak glom het vlammenschijnsel in zijn ogen; Nachtvlinders, die zijn schreden verduisterden, Beschreven zijn lieflijke naam. Zijn huis is hoog in de bergen, Een schimmig huis met muren van nevel, Welks gouden kudden 's avonds grazen En de maan beheksen met gedempt geblaat. Opwellend uit beschaduwde bronnen Borrelt zoet water met een trillend geluid; Daar vliegt de bosuil met geluidloze vleugels, De zijderups heeft er zijn web gesponnen. In de donkere poelen doemen gezichten op; En rozig, als knoppen in de ochtend, Over de valleien met brem en berk Waren dromen rond door eenzame bossen.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from English to Dutch (Nederlands) copyright © 2010 by Frans Beems, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Frans Beems. Contact: fbeems (AT) planet (DOT) nl
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Based on:
- a text in English by Walter De la Mare (1873 - 1956), "I met at eve"
This text was added to the website: 2010-09-13
Line count: 25
Word count: 151