MY SILKS AND FINE ARRAY

Set by John Mitchell  (1941-) op. 1 (1964, 1977).
Text by William Blake (1757-1827)


My silks and fine array, 
My smiles and languish'd air,
By love are driv'n away;
And mournful lean Despair
Brings me yew to deck my grave:
Such end true lovers have.

His face is fair as heav'n,
When springing buds unfold;
O why to him was't giv'n,
Whose heart is wintry cold?
His breast is love's all worship'd tomb,
Where all love's pilgrims come.

Bring me an axe and spade,
Bring me a winding sheet;
When I my grave have made,
Let winds and tempests beat:
Then down I'll lie, as cold as clay,
True love doth pass away! 

Regarde le film!
The Beauty of Touch
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