Saturday, April 1, 2017

Words & Music





"Weep You No More, Sad Fountains"
Anonymous

Weep you no more, sad fountains;
What need you flow so fast?
Look how the snowy mountains
Heaven’s sun doth gently waste.
But my sun’s heavenly eyes
View not your weeping,
That now lie sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

Sleep is a reconciling,
A rest that peace begets.
Doth not the sun rise smiling
When fair at even he sets?
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes,
Melt not in weeping
While she lies sleeping
Softly, now softly lies
Sleeping.

FAIN would I change that note

To which fond Love hath charm'd me

Long, long to sing by rote,

Fancying that that harm'd me:

Yet when this thought doth come,
         
'Love is the perfect sum

    Of all delight,'

I have no other choice

Either for pen or voice

    To sing or write.
  

O Love! they wrong thee much

That say thy sweet is bitter,

When thy rich fruit is such

As nothing can be sweeter.

Fair house of joy and bliss,
  
Where truest pleasure is,

    I do adore thee:

I know thee what thou art,

I serve thee with my heart,

    And fall before thee.
  




Song: “O Mistress mine where are you roaming?”
By William Shakespeare
(from Twelfth Night)

O Mistress mine where are you roaming?
O stay and hear, your true love's coming,
      That can sing both high and low.
Trip no further pretty sweeting.
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,
      Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love, 'tis not hereafter,
Present mirth, hath present laughter:
      What's to come, is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me sweet and twenty:
      Youth's a stuff will not endure.


Leaning into the afternoons
By Pablo Neruda

Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets
towards your oceanic eyes.

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,
its arms turning like a drowning man's.

I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse.

You keep only darkness, my distant female,
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes.

The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.

The night gallops on its shadowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.




Sonnet 18
By William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
     So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
     So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


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