Oft, when the watching stars grow pale, And round me sleeps the moonlight scene, To hear a flute through yonder vale I from my casement lean. "Come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say, "Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!" Never to mortal ear Could words, tho' warm they be, Speak Passion's language half so clear As do those notes to me! Then quick my own light lute I seek, And strike the chords with loudest swell; And, tho' they naught to others speak, He knows their language well. "I come, my love!" each note then seems to say, "I come, my love! -- thine, thine till break of day." Oh, weak the power of words, The hues of painting dim, Compar'd to what those simple chords Then say and paint to him!
- by Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852), "How oft, when watching stars", subtitle: "Savoyard air", appears in National Airs [author's text checked 1 time 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)
- [ None yet in the database ]
Settings in other languages, adaptations, or excerpts:
- Also set in German (Deutsch), a translation by Ferdinand Freiligrath (1810 - 1876) , "How oft, when watching stars" FRE ; composed by Adolf Jensen.
Other available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Souvent, lorsque les étoiles de garde pâlissent", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2011-07-17
Line count: 20
Word count: 137