Where we made the fire, In the summer time, Of branch and briar On the hill to the sea I slowly climb Through winter mire, And scan and trace The forsaken place Quite readily. Now a cold wind blows, And the grass is gray, But the spot still shows As a burnt circle - aye, And stick-ends, charred, Still strew the sward Whereon I stand, Last relic of the band Who came that day! Yes, I am here Just as last year, And the sea breathes brine From its strange straight line Up hither, the same As when we four came. - But two have wandered far From this grassy rise Into urban roar Where no picnics are, And one - has shut her eyes For evermore.
- by Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928), "Where the picnic was", appears in Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries with Miscellaneous Pieces, first published 1914 [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 Andrew Downes (b. 1950), "Where the picnic was", op. 29 no. 3 (1983), from Old Love's Domain, no. 3 [sung text checked 1 time]
- by Gerald Finzi (1901 - 1956), "Where the picnic was", op. 2 no. 2 (1921-1922), published 1925 [ baritone and string quartet ], from By Footpath and Stile, no. 2, note: composition later withdrawn by the composer [sung text checked 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 30
Word count: 127