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I
Love the Merry Dance (William Blake)
April Crane, soprano
I love the merry
dance,
The softly breathing
song,
Where innocent eyes do glance,
Where lisps the maiden's
tongue.
I love the laughing vale,
I love the echoing
hills,
Where mirth does never
fail,
And the jolly swain laughs his fill.
I love the pleasant cot,
I love the innocent bow'r,
Where white and brown is our lot,
Or fruit in the midday hour.
I love the oaken seat,
Beneath the oaken tree,
Where all the villagers meet,
And laugh my sports to see.
I love our neighbors all,
But Kitty, but Kitty, I love thee more;
And love them ever I shall;
But thou art all to me.
child
of Delight (Emily Brontė)
April Crane, soprano
child of delight!
With sunbright hair,
And sea-blue sea-deep eyes,
Spirit of bliss,
What brings thee here
Beneath these sullen skies?
Thou shoud'st live in eternal spring
Where endless sky is never dim.
Why, seraph, has thy erring wing
Borne thee down to weep with him?
Not from heaven am I descended.
I do not come to mingle tears.
But sweet is day, though with shadows blended,
And though clouded, sweet are youthful years.
I, the image of light and gladness,
Saw and pitied that mournful boy,
Swore to take his gloomy sadness
And give to him my beamy joy.
Guardian angel he lacks no more;
My watch will shield him now.
child of delight! child of delight!
Is it love which brings thee here?
You'll
Be Sorry (Edna St. Vincent Millay)
Wendy Lashbrook, soprano
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that
word!
Give back my book, and take my kiss instead.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard?
"What a big book for such a little head!"
come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink!
Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that.
I never again will tell you what I think.
I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly;
You will not catch me reading anymore:
I shall be called a wife to pattern by;
And some day, when you knock and push the door,
Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
I shall be gone,
And you may whistle for me.
Beauty (Edna St. Vincent Millay)
Wendy Lashbrook, soprano
Think not, nor for a moment let your
mind,
Wearied with thinking,
Doze upon the thought that the work's done
And the long day behind,
And beauty, since 'tis paid for,
can be bought.
If in the moonlight from the silent bough
Suddenly speaks your name the nightingale
Be not assured that now his wing is limed
And his wild virtue tame.
Beauty beyond all feathers that have flown
Is free, is free;
You shall not hood her to your wrist,
Nor sting her eyes,
Not have her for yourself in any fashion.
Beauty billed and kissed is not your turtle;
Tread her like a dove.
She loves you not;
She never heard of love.
John Mitchell was born in Hollywood,
California on April 26, 1941.
He studied music composition at UCLA and has been a church organist
and music director since 1962. His compositions include works for
solo
piano and organ, operas, choral music, chamber music and art songs.
To receive a free CD send us
your name and mailing address:
jfmCD@abm-enterprises.net
To hear the music of other
contemporary tonal composers visit
Menelik
Music
John Mitchell, New Classical Music
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