Frost in the Fall - Bird, Peter

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"A set of 3 songs, based on 3 poems from Robert Frost's first book [1913; 1915] "A Boy's Will"."

⌛ Epoche → 20. Jahrhundert ◈ Genre → Madrigale

♯ Tonart C major

⁄ Taktart 4/4

♬ Besetzung → SSAATTBB

◆ Difficulty

Mittelstufe

↕ Tonumfang E-2 – a''

♩ Tempo 100

◷ Dauer ~10 min

¶ Sprache → Englisch

Takte 247

Textur Homophon

Stimmen 4

Instrumente A cappella

Seiten 16

CPDL Nr. 31406

Bearbeiter Peter Bird

Veröffentlicht 2014-03-02

Lizenz Creative Commons Attribution Share Alike

♫Tonumfänge

SOPRANO

b – a''

ALTO

g – d''

TENOR

d – g#'

BASS

E-2 – d'

Schlagwörter

Pages_using_DynamicPageList3_parser_function Posted_in_March_2014 More_than_90_days_old More_than_30_days_old CPDL_314xy

¶Liedtext

1. A Line-storm Song THE line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain. <i>The birds have less to say for themselves* In the wood-world's torn despair* Than now these numberless years the elves,* Although they are no less there:*</i> All song of the woods is crushed like some Wild, easily shattered rose. Come, be my love in the wet woods; come, Where the boughs rain when it blows. There is the gale to urge behind And bruit our singing down, And the shallow waters aflutter with wind From which to gather your gown. What matter if we go clear to the west, And come not through dry-shod? For wilding brooch shall wet your breast: The rain-fresh goldenrod. Oh, never this whelming east wind swells But it seems like the sea's return To the ancient lands where it left the shells Before the age of the fern; And it seems like the time when after doubt Our love came back amain. Oh, come forth into the storm and rout And be my love in the rain. [*<i>lines omitted from this setting</i>*] 2. October O HUSHED October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; To-morrow's wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; To-morrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow, Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know; Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away; Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes' sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes' sake along the wall. 3. Reluctance OUT through the fields and the woods And over the walls