Folk song
Language:
English
Is it the shrewd October wind
Brings the tears into her eyes?
Does it blow so strong that she must fetch
Her breath in sudden sighs?
The sound of his horse's feet grows faint,
The Rider has passed from sight;
The day dies out of the crimson west.
And coldly falls the night.
She presses her tremulous fingers tight
Against her closèd eyes,
And on the lonesome threshold there,
She cowers down and cries.
Authorship
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text),
listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
Added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
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