Dulce et Decorum Est (James Crawford): Difference between revisions
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*{{PostedDate|2020-01-02}} {{CPDLno|56502}} [[Media:Dulce_Et_Decorum_Est_James_Crawford_upload.pdf|{{pdf}}]] [[Media:Dulce_Et_Decorum_Est_James_Crawford_upload.mxl|{{XML}}]] [[Media:Dulce_Et_Decorum_Est_James_Crawford_upload.mscz|{{Muse}}]] | *{{PostedDate|2020-01-02}} {{CPDLno|56502}} [[Media:Dulce_Et_Decorum_Est_James_Crawford_upload.pdf|{{pdf}}]] [[Media:Dulce_Et_Decorum_Est_James_Crawford_upload.mxl|{{XML}}]] [[Media:Dulce_Et_Decorum_Est_James_Crawford_upload.mscz|{{Muse}}]] | ||
{{Editor|James Crawford|2020-01-02}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|11|158}}{{Copy|Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial No Derivatives}} | {{Editor|James Crawford|2020-01-02}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|11|158}}{{Copy|Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial No Derivatives}} | ||
:'''Edition notes:''' | :'''Edition notes:''' | ||
==General Information== | ==General Information== | ||
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'''Description:''' "Dulce et Decorum Est" is the sixth of a collection of seven songs based on the poems of Wilfred Owen. It may serve as part of a Remembrance Day event, or a recital or competition. This song may best suit a tenor voice. | '''Description:''' "Dulce et Decorum Est" is the sixth of a collection of seven songs based on the poems of Wilfred Owen. It may serve as part of a Remembrance Day event, or a recital or competition. This song may best suit a tenor voice. | ||
'''External websites:''' | '''External websites:''' | ||
==Original text and translations== | ==Original text and translations== | ||
{{Text|English| | {{Text|English| | ||
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, | Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, | ||
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, | Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, | ||
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs | Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs | ||
And towards our distant rest began to trudge. | And towards our distant rest began to trudge. | ||
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots | Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots | ||
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; | But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; | ||
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots | Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots | ||
Of tired, outstipped Five-Nines that dropped behind. | Of tired, outstipped Five-Nines that dropped behind. | ||
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling, | Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling, | ||
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; | Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time; | ||
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, | But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, | ||
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime… | And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime… | ||
Dim, through the misty panes and thin green light, | Dim, through the misty panes and thin green light, | ||
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. | As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. | ||
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, | In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, | ||
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. | He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. | ||
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace | If in some smothering dreams you too could pace | ||
Behind the wagon that we flung him in, | Behind the wagon that we flung him in, | ||
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, | And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, | ||
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; | His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin; | ||
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood | If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood | ||
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, | Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, | ||
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud | Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud | ||
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, - | Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, - | ||
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest | My friend, you would not tell with such high zest | ||
To children ardent for some desperate glory, | To children ardent for some desperate glory, | ||
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est | The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est | ||
Pro patria mori.}} | Pro patria mori.}} | ||
[[Category:Sheet music]] | [[Category:Sheet music]] | ||
[[Category:Modern music]] | [[Category:Modern music]] | ||
Revision as of 14:35, 15 November 2020
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- (Posted 2020-01-02) CPDL #56502:
- Editor: James Crawford (submitted 2020-01-02). Score information: A4, 11 pages, 158 kB Copyright: CC BY NC ND
- Edition notes:
General Information
Title: Dulce et Decorum Est
Composer: James Crawford
Lyricist: Wilfred Owen
Number of voices: 1v Voicings: S or T
Genre: Secular, Art song
Language: English
Instruments: Piano
First published: 2020
Description: "Dulce et Decorum Est" is the sixth of a collection of seven songs based on the poems of Wilfred Owen. It may serve as part of a Remembrance Day event, or a recital or competition. This song may best suit a tenor voice.
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstipped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime…
Dim, through the misty panes and thin green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.