When I was young my heart and head were light,
And I was gay and feckless as a colt
Out in the fields, with morning in the may,
Wind on the grass, wings in the orchard bloom.
O thrilling sweet, my joy, when life was free
And all the paths led on from hawthorn-time
Across the carolling meadows into June.
But now my heart is heavy-laden. I sit
Burning my dreams away beside the fire:
For death has made me wise and bitter and strong;
And I am rich in all that I have lost.
O starshine on the fields of long-ago,
Bring me the darkness and the nightingale;
Dim wealds of vanished summer, peace of home,
and silence; and the faces of my friends.
And I was gay and feckless as a colt
Out in the fields, with morning in the may,
Wind on the grass, wings in the orchard bloom.
O thrilling sweet, my joy, when life was free
And all the paths led on from hawthorn-time
Across the carolling meadows into June.
But now my heart is heavy-laden. I sit
Burning my dreams away beside the fire:
For death has made me wise and bitter and strong;
And I am rich in all that I have lost.
O starshine on the fields of long-ago,
Bring me the darkness and the nightingale;
Dim wealds of vanished summer, peace of home,
and silence; and the faces of my friends.
inviata da Bartleby - 22/11/2011 - 12:04
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Nella raccolta “Picture-Show” pubblicata nel 1919.
Musica di un tal DeGolier, misconosciuto musicista, risalente al 1940.
Testo trovato su The Lied, Art Song and Choral Texts Archive.
… e sono ricco di tutto ciò che ho perduto…”
Sul finire della guerra il tenente Siegfried Sassoon, combattendo sul fronte francese, fu gravemente ferito dal solito “fuoco amico”: uno dei tanti soldatini di cui lui aveva cantato gli sparò un colpo in testa scambiandolo per un tedesco. Tuttavia non ebbe serie conseguenze, se non quella di venir promosso a capitano. Peggio andò al suo amico ed ammiratore Wilfred Owen, che Sassoon aveva conosciuto di persona a Craiglockhart mentre Owen era lì ricoverato per i postumi di un trauma da esplosione: fu ucciso nei pressi di Joncourt, in Piccardia, solo una settimana prima della fine della guerra…