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Sacred song heals the sick spirit.
The mysterious power of harmony
Will expiate a heavy delusion
And tame a revolting desire.
The soul of a singer expressed with a concordance
Is freed from all its woes,
And the sacred poetry will give purity
And peace to its companion.
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O what t can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a faery’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery’s song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look'd at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said.—
I love thee true.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes
So kiss'd to sleep.
And there we slumber'd on the moss,
And there I dream'd, ah woe betide!—
The latest dream I ever dream'd
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cry'd—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’
I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
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4. |
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A dreary time! And yet - enchantment for the eyes!
How dear to me your parting grace, your farewell gifts —
I love the rich decay of leaf and countryside,
The forests all decked out in gold and crimson tints.
Within their halls a fresh wind stirs about and sighs,
The heavens cloak themselves in rolling folds of mist;
How rare the sun, the morning frosts that do not stay,
With grizzled winter’s stormy threats still far away …
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5. |
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"Goodbye, O world, O earth, farewell,
Unfriendly land, goodbye!
My searing pain, my tortures cruel
Above the clouds I'll hide.
And as for you, my dear Ukraine,
I'll leave the clouds behind
And fall with dew to talk with you,
Poor widow-country mine.
I'll come at midnight when the dew
Falls heavy on the fields;
And softly-sadly we will talk
Of what the future yields.
Until the rising of the sun
We'll talk about your woes,
Until your infant sons are grown
And rise against the foes.
Goodbye, my lovely, poor Ukraine,
0 widow-land of mine!
Your children teach the living truth -
That justice is divine!"
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When, in the cornfield, yellow waves are rising,
The wood is rustling at the sound of soft wind,
And, in the garden, crimson plums are hiding
In pleasant shade of leaves, so shining ones and green;
When, spilled with fragrant dew in calmness of the alley,
In morning of a gold or evening of a red,
Under the bush, the lily of a valley,
Is gladly nodding me with silver of her head;
When the icy brook in the ravine is playing,
And, sinking thoughts in somewhat misty dreams,
In bubbling tones secretly tale-telling
Of those peaceful lands from which it gaily streams --
Then wrinkles are smoothing on my knitted brow,
My heart is losing troubles and distress --
And I can apprehend the happiness on earth,
And see Almighty in the heavens now...
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I come out to the path, alone,
Night and wildness are referred to God,
Through the mist, the road gleams with stone,
Stars are speaking in the shinning lot.
There is grave and wonderful in heaven;
Earth is sleeping in a pale-blue light...
Why is then my heart such pined and heavy?
Is it waiting or regretting plight?
I expect that nothing more goes,
And for past I do not have regret,
I wish only freedom and repose,
I would fall asleep and all forget...
I would like to fall asleep forever,
But without cold sleep of death:
Let my breast be full of dozing fervor
For the life, and heave in gentle breath;
So that enchanting voice would ready
Day and night to sing to me of love,
And the oak, evergreen and shady,
Would decline to me and rustle above
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8. |
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Tops of dreaming highlands
Darken in a night;
Valleys lull, in silence,
A fresh dim inside;
Dust sleeps on a road,
Leafage does not shake.
Wait a little more,
You'll too have a break.
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released March 15, 2021
