CHORUS
A
song of the setting sun!
The
sky in the west is red,
And
the day is all but done:
While
yonder up overhead,
All
too soon,
There
rises so cold the cynic moon.
A
Song of a Winter day!
The
wind of the north doth blow,
From
a sky that's chill and gray,
On
fields where no crops now grow,
Fields
long shorn
Of
bearded barley and golden corn.
A
song of a faded flower!
'Twas
plucked in the tender bud,
And
fair and fresh for an hour,
In
a Lady's hair it stood.
Now,
ah! now,
Faded
it lies in the dust and low.
BARITONE
AND SOPRANO SOLOISTS
Cease
smiling, Dear! a little while be sad,
Here
in the silence, under the wan moon.
Sweet
are thine eyes, but how can I be glad,
Knowing
they change so soon?
O
could this moment be perpetuate!
Must
we grow old, and leaden eyed and gray
And
taste no more the wild and passionate
Love
sorrows of today?
O
red pomegranate of thy perfect mouth
My
lips' life fruitage might I taste and die,
Here
to thy garden where the scented south
Wind
chastens Agony;
Reap
death from thy live lips in one long kiss,
And
look my last into thine eyes and rest:
What
sweets had life to me sweeter than this
Swift
dying on thy breast?
Or,
if that may not be, for Love's sake, Dear!
Keep
silence still and dream that we shall lie.
Red
mouth to mouth, entwined, and always hear
The
south wind's melody,
Here
in thy garden, through the sighing boughs,
Beyond
the reach of time and chance and change
And
bitter life and death and broken vows,
That
sadden and estrange.
CHORUS
Pale
amber sunlight falls across
The
reddening October trees,
That
hardly sway before a breeze
As
soft as summer: summer's loss
Seems
little, dear! on days like these!
Let
misty Autumn be our part!
The
twilight of the year is sweet.
Where
shadow and the darkness meet.
Our
love, a twilight of the heart
Eludes
a little time's deceit.
Are
we not better and at home
In
dreamful Autumn we who deem
No
harvest joy is worth a dream?
A
little while and night shall come,
A
little while then let us dream
[.
. . dream . . . dream].
SOPRANO
SOLOIST
Exceeding
sorrow consumeth my sad heart!
Because
tomorrow we must depart,
Now
is exceeding sorrow all my part,
Give
over playing, cast thy viol away,
Merely
laying thine head my way:
Prithee
give over playing, grave or gay.
Be
no word spoken; weep nothing; let a pale
Silence,
unbroken silence prevail!
Prithee,
be no word spoken, lest I fail!
Forget
tomorrow! weep nothing: only lay
In
silent sorrow thine head my way!
Let
us forget tomorrow this one day.
BARITONE
SOLOIST
By
the sad waters of separation
Where
we have wandered by divers ways,
I
have but the shadow and imitation
Of
the old memorial days.
In
music I have no consolation,
No
roses are pale enough for me;
The
sound of the waters of separation
Surpasseth
roses and melody.
By
the sad waters of separation
Dimly
I hear from an hidden place
The
sigh of mine ancient adoration:
Hardly
can I remember your face.
If
you be dead, no proclamation
Sprang
to me over the waste, gray sea:
Living,
the waters of separation
Sever
for ever your soul from me.
No
may knoweth our desolation;
Memory
pales of the old delight;
While
the sad waters of separation
Bear
us on to the ultimate night.
CHORUS
See
how the trees and the osiers lithe
Are
green bedecked and the woods are blithe,
The
meadows have donned their cape of flowers,
The
air is soft with sweet May showers
And
the birds make melody:
BARITONE
SOLOIST
But
the spring of the Soul, the spring of the Soul
Cometh
no more for you or for me.
CHORUS
The
lazy hum of the busy bees
Murmureth
thro' the almond trees;
The
jonquil flaunteth a gay, blonde head,
The
primrose peeps from a mossy bed,
And
the violets scent the lane,
The
violets scent the lane.
SOPRANO
SOLOIST
But
the flowers of the Soul, the flowers of the Soul,
For
you and for me bloom never again.
CHORUS
Bloom
never again, bloom never again, bloom never again.
BARITONE
SOLOIST
I
was not sorrowful, I could not weep
And
all my memories were put to sleep.
I
watched the river grow more white and strange,
All
day till evening, I watched it change.
All
day till evening I watched the rain
Beat
wearily upon the window pane.
I
was not sorrowful but only tired
Of
everything that ever I desired.
Her
lips, her eyes, all day became to me
The
shadow of a shadow utterly.
All
day mine hunger for her heart became
Oblivion,
until the evening came
And
left me sorrowful inclined to weep
With
all my memories that could not sleep.
SOLOISTS
AND CHORUS
They
are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love
and desire and hate:
I
think they have no portion in us after
We
pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out
of a misty dream our path emerges for a while,
Then
closes within a dream, within a dream --