To me, fair friend, you never can be old (Michael Gray): Difference between revisions
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==Original text and translations== | ==Original text and translations== | ||
{{ | {{Text|English| | ||
To me, fair friend, you never can be old, | |||
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd, | |||
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold | |||
Have from the forests shook three summer's pride, | |||
Three beauteous springs to yellow Autumn turn'd | |||
In process of the seasons have I seen, | |||
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd | |||
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. | |||
Ah! Yet doth beauty like a dial-hand, | |||
Steal from his figure and no pace preceiv'd; | |||
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand | |||
Hath motion and my eye may be deceiv'd: | |||
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred: | |||
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. | |||
''William Shakespeare (Sonnet CIV)''}} | |||
[[Category:Sheet music]] | [[Category:Sheet music]] | ||
[[Category:Modern music]] | [[Category:Modern music]] |
Revision as of 23:23, 9 December 2018
Music files
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- Editor: Michael Gray (submitted 2018-12-09). Score information: Letter (landscape), 8 pages, 258 kB Copyright: CC BY NC ND
- Edition notes: Part of a collection in progress, "Book of Sonnets"
General Information
Title: To me, fair friend, you never can be old
Composer: Michael Gray
Lyricist: William Shakespeare
Number of voices: 3vv Voicing: SAB
Genre: Secular, Partsong
Language: English
Instruments: Piano
{{Published}} is obsolete (code commented out), replaced with {{Pub}} for works and {{PubDatePlace}} for publications.
Description:
External websites: http://www.graymichael.com
Original text and translations
English text
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold
Have from the forests shook three summer's pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow Autumn turn'd
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! Yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure and no pace preceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand
Hath motion and my eye may be deceiv'd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.
William Shakespeare (Sonnet CIV)