Song Cycle by Sir Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924)

1.

Authorship

by Winifred M. Letts (1882-1936)

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2.

Authorship

by Winifred M. Letts (1882-1936)

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in the database but will be added
as soon as we obtain it. ---]

3. A soft day

Authorship

by Winifred M. Letts (1882-1936)

A soft day, thank God!
A wind from the south
With a honey'd mouth;
A scent of drenching leaves,
Briar and beech and lime,
White elderflower and thyme,
And the soaking grass smells sweet,
Crushed by my two bare feet,
While the rain drips,
Drips, drips, drips from the eaves.

A soft day, thank God!
The hills wear a shroud
Of silver cloud;
The web the spider weaves
Is a glittering net;
The woodland path is wet,
And the soaking earth smells sweet
Under my two bare feet,
And the rain drips,
Drips, drips, drips from the leaves.

5. The bold unbiddable child

Authorship

by Winifred M. Letts (1882-1936)

Now what is he after below in the street?
(God save us; he's terrible wild!)
Is it stirrin' the gutter around with his feet?
He'd best be aware when the two of us meet.
Come in out o' that, come in out o' that, come in,
You bold unbiddable child!

He's after upsetting the Widow Foy's pail -
She'll murder him yet, Widow Foy!
An' he's pulling the massachree dog by the tail;
By the hokey! that young one is born for the gaol.
Come in out o' that, come in out o' that, come in,
You rogue of a villainous boy!

Go tell him his mother is seeking a stick
For a boy that is terrible wild.
If he cares for his feelings he'd better be quick;
He'll draw in his horns when he sees me, will Mick.
Come in out o' that, come in out o' that, come in,
You bold unbiddable child.

6. Irish skies

Authorship

by Winifred M. Letts (1882-1936)

In London here the streets are grey, and grey the sky above;
I wish I were in Ireland to see the skies I love -
Pearl cloud, buff cloud, the colour of a dove.

All day I travel English streets, but in my dreams I tread
The far Glencullen road, and see the soft sky overhead.
Grey clouds, white clouds, the wind has shepherded.

At night the London lamps shine bright, but what are they to me?
I've seen the moonlight in Glendhu, the stars above Glenchree -
The lamps of Heav'n give light enough for me.

The city in the winter-time put on a shroud of smoke,
But the sky above the Three rock was blue as Mary's cloak,
Ruffled like doves' wings when the wind awoke.

I dream I see the Wicklow hills by evening sunlight kissed,
An' ev'ry glen and valley there brimful of radiant mist -
The jewelled sky topaz and amethyst.

I woke to see the London streets, the sombre sky above,
God's blessing on the far-off roads, and on the skies I love -
Pearl feather, grey feather, wings of a dove.

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