poem to song by gitika partington and andrew mccrorie-shand and william butler yeats

W B YEATS

This is the first draft of the choral piece which will be created from this blue print 

 THE WHITE BIRDS

        by: W.B. Yeats

        WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
        We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
        And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
        Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
         
        A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
        Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
        Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
        For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!
         
        I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
        Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;
        Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,
        Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

The White Birds

first draft
The Stolen Child - by W B YEATS...
                     
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
   
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap  
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.

Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

THE STOLEN CHILD

The Song of Wandering Aengus
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair 
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

When You Are Old 
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

LAKE ISLE OF INNESFREE

I am working on tidy playlists..there is one for all my song-a-week and then other tidy playlists will follow ..it like a thrift shop of my songs..you gonna have to have a good rummage ..a great place for a demo  ( there is no such thing as a demo) is what I say. One day I will orgnise into tidy playlists. good luck - I will put the kettle one