Dulce et Decorum Est - Crawford, James

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""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."

⌛ Epoche → 20. Jahrhundert ◈ Genre → Art songs

♯ Tonart C# major

⁄ Taktart 4/4

♬ Besetzung → S, T

◆ Difficulty

Mittelstufe

↕ Tonumfang B,, – G-7

♩ Tempo larghetto (60)

◷ Dauer ~4 min 33 sec

¶ Sprache → Englisch

Takte 68

Textur Homophon

Stimmen 3

Instrumente Piano

Seiten 11

CPDL Nr. 56502

Bearbeiter James Crawford

Veröffentlicht 2020-01-02

Lizenz Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial No Derivatives

♫Tonumfänge

Tenor

A-2 – g#'

Piano

B,, – e''

Schlagwörter

Pages_using_DynamicPageList3_parser_function Posted_in_January_2020 More_than_90_days_old More_than_30_days_old CPDL_565xy

¶Liedtext

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.