The daylight is dying (Huub de Lange): Difference between revisions

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==Original text and translations==
==Original text and translations==
{{Text|English}}
{{Text|English|
The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
in silence to rest;
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep,
They pass to its bondage--
The kingdom of sleep
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height,
They rest in your keeping,
O wonderful night.
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold,
'Tis then that the stories
Of bush-land are told.


The daylight is dying<br>
Unnumbered I told them  
Away in the west,<br>
In memories bright,  
The wild birds are flying<br>
But who could unfold them,  
in silence to rest;<br>
Or read them aright?  
In leafage and frondage<br>
Beyond all denials  
Where shadows are deep,<br>
The stars in their glories,  
They pass to its bondage--<br>
The breeze in the myalls,  
The kingdom of sleep<br>
Are part of these stories.  
And watched in their sleeping<br>
 
By stars in the height,<br>
The waving of grasses,  
They rest in your keeping,<br>
The song of the river  
O wonderful night.<br>
That sings as it passes  
When night doth her glories<br>
For ever and ever,  
Of starshine unfold,<br>
The hobble-chains' rattle,  
'Tis then that the stories<br>
The calling of birds,  
Of bush-land are told.<br>
The lowing of cattle  
<br>
Must blend with the words.  
Unnumbered I told them<br>
 
In memories bright,<br>
Without these, indeed you  
But who could unfold them,<br>
Would find it ere long,  
Or read them aright?<br>
As though I should read you  
Beyond all denials<br>
The words of a song  
The stars in their glories,<br>
That lamely would linger  
The breeze in the myalls,<br>
When lacking the rune,  
Are part of these stories.<br>
The voice of a singer,  
<br>
The lilt of the tune.  
The waving of grasses,<br>
 
The song of the river<br>
But as one halk-bearing  
That sings as it passes<br>
An old-time refrain,  
For ever and ever,<br>
With memory clearing,  
The hobble-chains' rattle,<br>
Recalls it again,  
The calling of birds,<br>
These tales roughly wrought of
The lowing of cattle<br>
The Bush and its ways,  
Must blend with the words.<br>
May call back a thought of  
<br>
The wandering days;  
Without these, indeed you<br>
And, blending with each  
Would find it ere long,<br>
In the memories that throng
As though I should read you<br>
There haply shall reach  
The words of a song<br>
You some echo of song.}}
That lamely would linger<br>
When lacking the rune,<br>
The voice of a singer,<br>
The lilt of the tune.<br>
<br>
But as one halk-bearing<br>
An old-time refrain,<br>
With memory clearing,<br>
Recalls it again,<br>
These tales roughly wrought of<br>
The Bush and its ways,<br>
May call back a thought of<br>
The wandering days;<br>
And, blending with each<br>
In the memories that throng<br>
There haply shall reach<br>
You some echo of song.<br>


{{DEFAULTSORT:Daylight is dying, The (Huub de Lange)}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Daylight is dying, The (Huub de Lange)}}
[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Modern music]]
[[Category:Modern music]]

Revision as of 13:17, 17 April 2015

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  • CPDL #17419:  Icon_pdf_globe.gif Icon_mp3_globe.gif
Editor: Huub de Lange (submitted 2008-07-03).   Score information: A4, 18 pages, 422 kB   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes: Includes piano-choral score and separate piano accompaniment score.

General Information

Title: The daylight is dying
Composer: Huub de Lange
Lyricist: A.B. Banjo Patersoncreate page

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB

Genre: Secular, Partsong

Language: English
Instruments: Piano

Published: 2008

Description: #4 from 4 Romantic Poems, recent settings of poems by Emily Dickinson, William Blake, Alice Stuart and A.B. Banjo Paterson

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
in silence to rest;
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep,
They pass to its bondage--
The kingdom of sleep
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height,
They rest in your keeping,
O wonderful night.
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold,
'Tis then that the stories
Of bush-land are told.

Unnumbered I told them
In memories bright,
But who could unfold them,
Or read them aright?
Beyond all denials
The stars in their glories,
The breeze in the myalls,
Are part of these stories.

The waving of grasses,
The song of the river
That sings as it passes
For ever and ever,
The hobble-chains' rattle,
The calling of birds,
The lowing of cattle
Must blend with the words.

Without these, indeed you
Would find it ere long,
As though I should read you
The words of a song
That lamely would linger
When lacking the rune,
The voice of a singer,
The lilt of the tune.

But as one halk-bearing
An old-time refrain,
With memory clearing,
Recalls it again,
These tales roughly wrought of
The Bush and its ways,
May call back a thought of
The wandering days;
And, blending with each
In the memories that throng
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song.

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