Fairy-Land (Patrick O'Shea): Difference between revisions

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==Original text and translations==
==Original text and translations==
{{NoText}}
{{Text|English}}
<poem>
Dim vales, and shadowy floods,
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over
Huge moons there wax and wane,
Again, again, again,
Every moment of the night,
Forever changing places,
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down, still down, and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain's eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be,
O'er the strange woods, o'er the sea,
Over spirits on the wing,
Over every drowsy thing,
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light,
And then, how deep!, O, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.
</poem>


[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Sheet music]]

Revision as of 15:48, 17 March 2009

Music files

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CPDL #18407: Network.png
Editor: Patrick O'Shea (submitted 2008-12-01).   Score information: Letter, 19 pages, 140 kbytes   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes: Separate horn part available.

General Information

Title: Fairy-Land
Composer: Patrick O'Shea
Lyricist: Edgar Allen Poecreate page

Number of voices: 1v   Voicing: Soprano solo

Genre: Secular, Art song

Language: English
Instruments: horn, piano
Published: 2004

Description:

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

Dim vales, and shadowy floods,
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can't discover
For the tears that drip all over
Huge moons there wax and wane,
Again, again, again,
Every moment of the night,
Forever changing places,
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down, still down, and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain's eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be,
O'er the strange woods, o'er the sea,
Over spirits on the wing,
Over every drowsy thing,
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light,
And then, how deep!, O, deep!
Is the passion of their sleep.