Marjo Tal: After (The Lied and Art Song Texts Page: Texts and Translations to Lieder, mélodies, canzoni, and other classical vocal music)


All suddenly the wind comes soft,
  And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green
  And my heart with buds of pain.

My heart all Winter lay so numb,
  The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
  Or my heart wake any more.

But Winter's broken and earth has woken
  And the small birds cry again.
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
  And my heart puts forth its pain.

First published in Poetry Review, November 1912

Input by Ted Perry

2. Colloquial

Language: English

Authorship

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)


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3. Travel

Language: English

Authorship

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)


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4. The way that lovers use

Language: English

Authorship

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

Poetry and Drama

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The way that lovers use is this;
  They bow, catch hands, with never a word,
And their lips meet, and they do kiss,
  -- So I have heard.
  
They queerly find some healing so,
  And strange attainment in the touch;
There is a secret lovers know,
  -- I have read as much.
  
And theirs no longer joy nor smart,
  Changing or ending, night or day;
But mouth to mouth, and heart on heart,
  -- So lovers say.

5. Beauty and Beauty

Language: English

Authorship

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)

Poetry Review

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When Beauty and Beauty meet
  All naked, fair to fair,
The earth is crying-sweet,
  And scattering-bright the air,
Eddying, dizzying, closing round,
  With soft and drunken laughter;
Veiling all that may befall
  After -- after --
  
Where Beauty and Beauty met,
  Earth's still a-tremble there,
And winds are scented yet,
  And memory-soft the air,
Bosoming, folding glints of light,
  And shreds of shadowy laughter;
Not the tears that fill the years
  After -- after --

6. The young man in April

Language: English

Authorship

Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)


In the queer light, in twilight,
In April of the year,
I meet a thousand women,
But I never meet my Dear.
Yet each of them has something,
A turn of neck or knee,
A line of breast or shoulder,
That brings my Dear to me.

One has a way of swaying,
I'd swear to anywhere;
One has a laugh, and one a hat,
And one a trick of hair;
-Oh, glints and hints and gestures,
When shall I find complete
The Dear that's walking somewhere,
The Dear I've yet to meet?