The Ride (Huub de Lange): Difference between revisions
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*{{NewWork|2007-11-15}} '''CPDL #15422:''' [http://www.huubdelange.com/Four_Wilbur_Songs_2_THE_RIDE_(Huub_de_Lange).pdf {{extpdf}}] [http://www.huubdelange.com/Four_Wilbur_Songs_2_THE_RIDE_(Huub_de_Lange).mid {{extmid}}] [http://www.huubdelange.com/Four_Wilbur_Songs_2_THE_RIDE_(Huub_de_Lange).mp3 {{extmp3}}] | *{{NewWork|2007-11-15}} '''CPDL #15422:''' [http://www.huubdelange.com/Four_Wilbur_Songs_2_THE_RIDE_(Huub_de_Lange).pdf {{extpdf}}] [http://www.huubdelange.com/Four_Wilbur_Songs_2_THE_RIDE_(Huub_de_Lange).mid {{extmid}}] [http://www.huubdelange.com/Four_Wilbur_Songs_2_THE_RIDE_(Huub_de_Lange).mp3 {{extmp3}}] | ||
:'''Editor:''' [[User:Huub de Lange|Huub de Lange]] ''(added 2007-11-15)''. '''Score information:''' A4, 10 pages, kbytes | :'''Editor:''' [[User:Huub de Lange|Huub de Lange]] ''(added 2007-11-15)''. '''Score information:''' A4, 10 pages, kbytes {{Copy|Personal}} | ||
:'''Edition notes:''' | :'''Edition notes:''' | ||
Revision as of 08:25, 15 November 2008
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CPDL #15422:
- Editor: Huub de Lange (added 2007-11-15). Score information: A4, 10 pages, kbytes Copyright: Personal
- Edition notes:
General Information
Title: The Ride
Composer: Huub de Lange
Number of voices: 4vv Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Partsongs
Language: English
Instruments: a cappella
Published: 2007
Description: composition on a poem by Richard Wilbur. Song #2 of Four Wilbur Songs. Permission has been granted by the poet for his poem to be set to music.
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
The Ride
The horse beneath me seemed
To know what course to steer
Through the horror of snow I dreamed,
And so I had no fear,
Nor was I chilled to death
By the wind’s white shudders, thanks
To the veils of his patient breath
And the mist of sweat from his flanks.
It seemed that all night through,
Within my hand no rein
And nothing in my view
But the pillar of his mane,
I rode with magic ease
At a quick, unstumbling trot
Through shattering vacancies
On into what was not,
Till the weave of the storm grew thin,
With a threading of cedar-smoke,
And the ice-blind pane of an inn
Shimmered, and I awoke.
How shall I now get back
To the inn-yard where he stands,
Burdened with every lack,
And waken the stable-hands
To give him, before I think
That there was no horse at all,
Some hay, some water to drink,
A blanket and a stall?
Richard Wilbur