The lake (Huub de Lange): Difference between revisions
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*{{NewWork|2009-03-31}} '''CPDL #19134:''' [{{website|delange}}/THE_LAKE_(Huub_de_Lange).pdf {{extpdf}}] | *{{NewWork|2009-03-31}} '''CPDL #19134:''' [{{website|delange}}/THE_LAKE_(Huub_de_Lange).pdf {{extpdf}}] [{{website|delange}}/THE_LAKE_(Huub_de_Lange).mp3 {{extmp3}}] | ||
{{Editor|Huub de Lange|2009-03-31}} | {{Editor|Huub de Lange|2009-03-31}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|10|233}}{{Copy|Personal}}{{Edition}} | ||
==General Information== | ==General Information== | ||
'''Title:''' ''The Lake''<br> | |||
{{Composer|Huub de Lange}} | {{Composer|Huub de Lange}} | ||
{{Lyricist|Edgar Allan Poe}} | {{Lyricist|Edgar Allan Poe}} | ||
{{Voicing|4|SATB}}<br> | {{Voicing|4|SATB}}<br> | ||
{{Genre|Secular|Partsongs}} | |||
{{Language|English}} | {{Language|English}} | ||
'''Instruments:''' {{acap}}<br> | '''Instruments:''' {{acap}}<br> | ||
'''Published:''' 2009 | '''Published:''' 2009 | ||
'''Description:''' | |||
'''External websites:''' | |||
==Original text and translations== | ==Original text and translations== | ||
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</poem> | </poem> | ||
{{DEFAULTSORT:Lake, The (Huub de Lange)}} | |||
[[Category:Sheet music]] | [[Category:Sheet music]] | ||
[[Category:Modern music]] | [[Category:Modern music]] | ||
Revision as of 09:14, 1 April 2009
Music files
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CPDL #19134:
- Editor: Huub de Lange (submitted 2009-03-31). Score information: A4, 10 pages, 233 kB Copyright: PersonalThis template name is reserved for future development (something in line with what was originally proposed by Pml).
General Information
Title: The Lake
Composer: Huub de Lange
Lyricist: Edgar Allan Poe
Number of voices: 4vv Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Partsong
Language: English
Instruments: a cappella
Published: 2009
Description:
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less--
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.
But when the Night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody--
Then--ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight--
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define--
Nor Love--although the Love were thine.
Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining--
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake.