Quills & Quavers

Haunting electronica rendition of Poe's "To One in Paradise"
lyrics
Music by Richard deCosta
Based upon the poem by Poe.

To One in Paradise
By Edgar Allan Poe

Thou wast that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine—
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
“On! on!”—but o’er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me
The light of Life is o’er!
No more—no more—no more—
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy grey eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams—
In what ethereal dances,
By what eternal streams.

To One In Paradise

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Dulce et Decorum Est
Poem By Wilfred Owen
Music by Richard deCosta

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Dulce Et Decorum

Light, playful electronic/vocal rendition of the classic poem by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Words by Emily Dickinson
Music by Richard deCosta

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

-=-

In the reclusive chambers of Emily Dickinson's 19th-century Massachusetts home, the haunting poem, 'Because I Could Not Stop for Death,' was conceived. Living much of her life in isolation, Dickinson's thoughts often ventured into the shadowlands of existence. This poem, published posthumously in 1890, offers a chilling reflection of her contemplation. The Grim Reaper, a timeless symbol, is portrayed as a carriage driver, guiding the reader through a somber journey that mirrors the ephemeral nature of life. Passing scenes of childhood innocence, maturity's labor, and the twilight of existence, it culminates in the cold embrace of the grave. Her words, etched in a gothic darkness, resonate with the uncertainties and fears of her time, transcending to speak to the eternal human condition.

Because I Could Not Stop For Death

Music by Chopin and Richard deCosta
Lyrics by Geeezer

Embark on a mesmerizing sonic journey where classical elegance collides with eclectic electronic elements. "Glade" transcends boundaries, interweaving the haunting beauty of Chopin's Prelude #4 with the enigmatic and ethereal sounds of Geeezer. Dive into an otherworldly realm where leaves dance in the wind, murmuring streams create a soft backdrop, and bird songs fill the air. With a captivating blend of shoegaze, house, and EDM, this song unveils a dreamscape where peace is found and shadows seep, leaving you immersed in a spellbinding musical experience.

LYRICS
leaves in dance
kiss the breeze
Sunlight winks
in the trees
streams murmur
soft and low
bird song fills the air flow
beneath the bark,
life stirs unseen
in green dreams
wakes a new scene
roots dig deep
tales they keep
daylight fades
and shadows seep
forest hums
day's end near
critters sway
night is here
In the glade
peace is found
starlight fades
all around

Glade (Chopin Prelude 4)

Who Has Seen the Wind?
Words by Christina Rossetti
Music by Richard deCosta

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

-=-
Shrouded in the shadows of the night, this dark downtempo composition weaves a tale of sorrow and mystery. Vocal harmonies echo through haunted chambers, intertwining with ethereal sounds that resonate with the soul's deepest longing. Inspired by a timeless poem, the track invites listeners to journey into a gothic realm where beauty and melancholy dance in an eternal embrace.

Who Has Seen The Wind?

Words, with apologies to  Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
Music by Richard deCosta

I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o’er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

My grandmamma has said—
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago—
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;

But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.

-=-


In the winding streets of a town steeped in history and tradition, echoes the footsteps of an old town crier, a figure once robust and full of life, now bent and weary with age. This eclectic electronic and electroacoustic composition, set in a slow, head-nodding, plodding rhythm of 3/4 time, seeks to tell his story, a tale both poignant and whimsical, filled with nostalgia and a touch of melancholy.

The music meanders through the cobbled pathways of the town, following the crier as he totters with his cane, his once-strong voice now a feeble cry. In his prime, he was the herald of news and proclamations, a vital link in the community's fabric. But time, that relentless sculptor, has worn him down, leaving behind a thin nose resting upon his chin like a staff, a crook in his back, and a melancholy crack in his laugh.

Yet, there is a dignity in his persistence, a beauty in his continued existence as the last leaf upon the tree in the spring. The composition captures this essence, weaving together sounds both organic and synthetic to create a sonic landscape that is at once old and new. The instrumentation is rich and varied, reflecting the many facets of the crier's character, from the Roman nose and rosy cheeks of his youth to the old three-cornered hat and breeches that now seem so queer.

The lyrics, inspired by the classic poetry of a bygone era, paint a vivid picture of the crier's life, filled with love, loss, and the inexorable march of time. They invite the listener to reflect on the transient nature of existence, the fleeting moments that make up a life, and the universal human experience of aging.

So come, take a stroll through the town with the old crier, let the music guide you through the streets and alleys, past the mossy marbles and carved names on the tomb. Allow yourself to be transported to a place where the past and the present merge, where the simple and the profound coexist, and where the dance of life continues, ever-changing, ever-enduring, like the last leaf clinging to the forsaken bough.

The Old Three-Cornered Hat, and the Breeches, and All That

Lyrics from "The Hollow Men" by T. S. Eliot
Music by Richard deCosta

Rows of hollow, dirty scarecrows march in unison through a cursed landscape, ancient and gaunt, haunted by the shadows of a past they cannot escape. The fog envelopes them, captured in high contrast and a dutch angle, with a low angle emphasizing their spectral, looming presence. A side view reveals their neverending procession, and a motion blur adds to their otherworldly aura. Every detail, every fiber and blemish is painstakingly brought to life in the style of a detailed oil painting, reminiscent of the works of certain famed illustrators. The world they inhabit is dark and foreboding, a place where joy is forgotten and sorrow lingers in the air like a thick mist. The song is an echo of their eternal march, a haunting melody that captures the essence of their doomed existence.

The Hollow Men

Download the sheet music for SATB Choir & Organ here:
http://www.richarddecosta.com/product/o-rose-thou-art-sick-satb-organ-pdf-score/

Based upon 
The Sick Rose
By William Blake

O Rose thou art sick. 
The invisible worm, 
That flies in the night 
In the howling storm: 

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

O Rose Thou Art Sick

https://linktr.ee/twoshedsdecosta

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(a leaf falls on loneliness) e. e. cummings

Poem by Lord Byron (George Gordon)
Music by Richard deCosta

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

She Walks In Beauty Like the Night

Idea 61: Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part
By Michael Drayton
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.

[Now let us each a new path pursue,
Forget our love and start life anew.]
Now at the last gasp of Love’s latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes—
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!

Within the shadowy corridors of this composition, one finds oneself ensnared by a melody most haunting, a tale conjured from the depths of a forlorn poem. Dark downtempo electronica intermingles with the spectral echoes of words long past, escorting the listener through an odyssey of emotional tumult and cerebral introspection. Each note, a ghostly reverberation; each beat, a pulse in the very fabric of the ethereal, serves as both sanctuary and prison to the contemplative soul.

Since Theres No Help (Based on the poem by Michael Drayton)

Buy the PDF score: https://www.richarddecosta.com/product/soon-as-i-beheld-thee-satb-organ-pdf-score-mp3/

Music by Richard deCosta

An orchestral, vocal, and percussion arrangement inspired by a 17th-century gazel penned under the pseudonym Farisî. This piece delves into timeless themes of love, heartache, and ineffable beauty, weaving together classical orchestration with Western and decidedly non-Western instruments and rhythms. Captivating vocals bring to life the emotionally charged poetry, set against a backdrop of rich orchestral layers and percussion. Experience a union of historical depth and contemporary artistry.


Fragment of gazel by Sultan Osman II (known as Osman the Young) under his pen name, Farisî (17th Century)

Soon as I beheld thee, mazed and wildered grew my sad heart;
How shall I my love disclose to thee who tyrant dread art?
How shall I hold straight upon my road, when yonder Torment
Smitten hath my breast with deadly wounds by her eyelash-dart?
Face, a rose; and mouth, a rosebud; form, a slender sapling

How shall I not be the slave of Princess such as thou art?
Ne'er hath heart a beauty seen like her of graceful figure;
Joyous would I for yon charmer's eyebrow with my life part.
Farisî, what can I do but love that peerless beauty?
Ah! This aged sphere hath made me lover of yon sweat-heart.

Translated by E. J. W. GIBB

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Soon As I Beheld Thee

Invictus
Words by William Ernest Henley
Music by Richard deCosta

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus - An Anthem for Those Still Living

Buy the score PDF: https://www.richarddecosta.com/product/shall-i-compare-thee-to-a-summers-day/
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? 
Words by William Shakespeare
Music by Richard deCosta

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
    So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


Dive into the depths of romance with this ultra-romantic orchestral rendition. Enveloping the essence of a classic sonnet, the instrumental weaves a tale of love that is as enduring as a summer's day. Lush strings and warm harmonies invite you to experience a piece that's both timeless and intimate.

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day - Vocal Duet

"Come to Me in the Silence of the Night" is a hauntingly beautiful orchestral and choral piece inspired by the essence of a romantic poem. This composition blends impressionist choir textures with the rich, emotive layers of a romantic orchestra, creating an immersive soundscape. The music ebbs and flows like the stillness of night, weaving a tapestry of serene harmonies and deep emotional resonance. Perfectly capturing the ethereal quality of a silent, dream-filled night, this track is a reflection of deep, introspective thoughts and the quiet beauty of nocturnal tranquility.

 Echo
By Christina Rossetti
Come to me in the silence of the night;
   Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
   As sunlight on a stream;
      Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
   Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
   Where thirsting longing eyes
      Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
   My very life again tho’ cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
   Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
      Speak low, lean low,
As long ago, my love, how long ago.

Come to me in the Silence of the Night

Invictus (Sea Epic), a grand epic orchestral piece infused with emotive vocals. This symphonic rendition brings to life the timeless words of the poem, transforming them into a powerful, cinematic experience. Journey through the depths of resilience and the spirit of unyielding determination, as this composition masterfully intertwines classical orchestration with contemporary cinematic elements. 'Invictus (Sea Epic)' is not just a musical piece; it's a profound narrative that resonates with the unconquerable soul within us all.

 Invictus
By William Ernest Henley
Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.

Quills & Quavers

RicharddeCostaComposer