How sweet the answer Echo makes To Music at night, When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away, o'er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light! Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. 'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, And only then, -- The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear, Is by that one, that only dear, Breath'd back again.
Six Modern Lyrics
Song Cycle by Charles Hubert Hastings Parry, Sir (1848 - 1918)
1. How sweet the answer  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852), "Echo", appears in Irish Melodies, first published 1821
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Écho", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Sharon Krebs) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
2. Since thou, O fondest and truest  [sung text checked 1 time]
Since thou, O fondest and truest, Hast loved me best and longest, And now with trust the strongest The joy of my heart renewest ; Since thou art dearer and dearer While other hearts grow colder, And ever, as love is older, More lovingly drawest nearer : Since now I see in the measure Of all my giving and taking, Thou wert my hand in the making, The sense and soul of my pleasure; The good I have ne'er repaid thee In heaven I pray be recorded, And all thy love rewarded By God, thy master that made thee.
Authorship:
- by Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 - 1930), no title, appears in The Shorter Poems of Robert Bridges, first published 1890
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]3. If I had but two little wings  [sung text checked 1 time]
If I had but two little wings And were a little feathery bird, To you I'd fly, my dear! But thoughts like these are idle things, And I stay here. But in my sleep to you I fly: I'm always with you in my sleep! The world is all one's own. But then one wakes, and where am I? All, all alone. Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids: So I love to wake ere break of day: For though my sleep be gone, Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, And still dreams on.
Authorship:
- by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772 - 1834), as Cordomi, "Something childish, but very natural"
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First published in The Annual Anthology, Volume II, 1800Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
4. There rolls the deep  [sung text checked 1 time]
There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There, where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; For though my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, written 1849, appears in In Memoriam A. H. H. obiit MDCCCXXXIII, no. 123, first published 1850
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Researcher for this page: Virginia Knight5. What voice of gladness  [sung text checked 1 time]
What voice of gladness, hark ! In heaven is ringing ? From the sad fields the lark Is upward winging. High through the mournful mist that blots our day Their songs betray them soaring in the grey. See them ! Nay, they In sunlight swim ; above the furthest stain Of cloud attain ; their hearts in music rain Upon the plain. Sweet birds, far out of sight Your songs of pleasure Dome us with joy as bright As heaven's best azure.
Authorship:
- by Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 - 1930), "Larks", appears in The Shorter Poems of Robert Bridges, in 5. Book V, first published 1893
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]6. Music, when soft voices die  [sung text checked 1 time]
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the belovèd's bed; And so [thy]1 thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
Authorship:
- by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792 - 1822), "To ----", appears in Posthumous Poems, first published 1824
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Jaroslav Vrchlický) , "Sloky", Prague, J. Otto, first published 1901
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) (Martin Stock) , "Musik, wenn leise Stimmen ersterben ...", copyright © 2002, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Bertram Kottmann) , copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
1 Bridge: "my"
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry