A curated collection of modern songs adapted from the works of legendary poets. This playlist lives in the space where haunting melody meets timeless verse, transforming the profound reflections of Emily Dickinson and Christina Rossetti into intimate indie folk and dark, gothic country.

Journey through themes of passionate longing, quiet grief, wild joy, and serene acceptance. These are stories of hearts in port, wild nights, answered questions, and love that transcends life itself. For those who find beauty in the melancholy and solace in a well-turned phrase.

Featuring adaptations of:
• "Wild Nights" by Emily Dickinson
• "A Birthday" by Christina Rossetti
• "Song (When I am dead, my dearest)" by Christina Rossetti
• "If you were coming in the Fall" by Emily Dickinson

#Poetcore #Literary #IndieFolk #GothicCountry #SingerSongwriter #EmilyDickinson #ChristinaRossetti #Melancholy #Haunting #BeautifullySad #Storytelling #Playlist

If You Were Coming In The Fall

Streetwise

“My Dead Friends” by Marie Howe

I have begun,
when I’m weary and can’t decide an answer to a bewildering question

to ask my dead friends for their opinion
and the answer is often immediate and clear.

Should I take the job? Move to the city? Should I try to conceive a child
in my middle age?

They stand in unison shaking their heads and smiling—whatever leads
to joy, they always answer,

to more life and less worry. I look into the vase where Billy’s ashes were —
it’s green in there, a green vase,

and I ask Billy if I should return the difficult phone call, and he says, yes.
Billy’s already gone through the frightening door,

whatever he says I’ll do.

I Have Begun

(Voice 1)
Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end.

(Voice 1)
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
From morn to night, my friend.

(Chorus / Both Voices)
From morn to night, my friend.

(Voice 1)
But is there for the night a resting-place?
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

(Voice 1)
May not the weary traveller knock in vain
For some one to let them in?

(Chorus / Both Voices)
A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.
And all may enter.

(Bridge)
Will there be beds for me and all who seek?
Yes, beds for all who come.

(Chorus / Both Voices)
Yes, beds for all who come.
And the road winds on to the very end...
From morn to night, my friend.

A Resting Place

If you were coming in the Fall,
I'd brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn,
As Housewives do, a Fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time was called.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into the Golden Land.

But, now, I know not when to drop
The patience of Eternity -
It is too difficult to guess -
The time to leave my heart to rest.

Wild nights - Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!
Futile - the winds -
To a Heart in port -
Done with the Compass -
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden -
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor -
Tonight - in Thee!

In The Fall

(Verse 1)
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

(Chorus)
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

(Verse 2)
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

(Chorus)
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

(Outro)
Haply may remember...
And haply may forget...
I shall not see the shadows...
I shall not feel the rain.

Haply May I

S-s-season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; uh
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, yeah
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Listen, Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, shhh
   Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
   Steady thy laden head across a brook;
   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
hours by hours.
hours by hours.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
   Among the river sallows, borne aloft
      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

John Keats's poem "Ode to Autumn

S-s-season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Music Studio, covering any genre, any kind of artist.

S-s-season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

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