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remember your lovers Iain Burnside – piano Iain Burnside has performed with artists including Dame Margaret Price, Susan Chilcott, Galina Gorchakova, Yvonne Kenny, John Mark Ainsley, Mark Padmore, Bryn 1 - 5 Sir Michael Tippett Terfel, Lisa Milne, Sally Matthews, and Jonathan Lemalu. The Heart’s Assurance Chamber music collaborations have featured the 1. Song [2.55] Britten-Pears Ensemble and the Brodsky, Delmé and 2. The Heart’s Assurance [2.22] Vanbrugh Quartets. 3. Compassion [4.19] 4. The Dancer [2.13] 5. Remember your lovers [6.16] As a broadcaster Iain has recently won a Sony Radio Award. He presents BBC Radio 3’s Voices programme, 6. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) and has combined his roles as pianist and presenter in a Iain has devised concert series for the Bath Festival and If music be the food of Love [2.03] number of series: From Where I’m Sitting on Radio 3, The Crucible, Sheffield; the International Song Recital 7. Sir Michael Tippett and The Music Party for BBC World Service. His television Series at the South Bank Centre and the Finzi Friends’ Music [3.28] involvement includes Cardiff Singer of the World, Leeds triennial festival of English Song in Ludlow. He also International Piano Competition and BBC Young Musician 8. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) teaches master-classes at the GSMD, the Julliard School, Music for a while [3.23] of the Year. New York; and the Banff Centre, Canada. 9. Sir Michael Tippett Boyhood’s End [12.32] 10. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann)

Sweeter than roses [3.28] P 1996 BBC Distributed under license from the BBC. BBC is a trademark of the C 2005 The copyright in this CD booklet, notes and design is owned by Signum Records Ltd. 11. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) British Broadcasting Corporation and is used under license. Any unauthorised broadcasting, public performance, copying or re-recording of Signum Compact An evening hymn [3.54] Disc and the material on the Disc constitutes an infringement of copyright and will render the infringer liable to an action by law. Licences for public performances or broadcasting may be Recorded at The Warehouse, London, England, 12. Benjamin Britten obtained from Phonographic Performance Ltd. All rights reserved. No part of this booklet may 29 & 31 March and 1 April 2005 be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, Canticle 1 [7.37] Producer - John H West electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission from Signum Records Ltd. 13. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) Engineers - Mike Hatch Editor - John H West An Epithalamium (A Wedding Song) [2.41] Front Cover Image - Creatas SignumClassics, Signum Records Ltd., Suite 14, 21 Wadsworth Road, Perivale, 14. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) Sir Michael Tippett photographs - Jane Bown Middx UB6 7JD, UK +44 (0) 20 8997 4000 E-mail: [email protected] What shall I do? [1.34] Booklet Notes - Iain Burnside Artwork and design - Woven Design www.signumrecords.com

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BIOGRAPHIES

15. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) John Mark Ainsley – tenor ‘Twas within a furlong of Edinburgh Town [2.14] 16. Pelham Humfrey (Tippett / Bergmann) John Mark Ainsley works with the London Symphony under has appeared in Sydney as Tito and Idomeneo, in A Hymn to God the Father [2.45] Davis, Rostropovich and Previn, Les Musiciens du Louvre Amsterdam as Handel’s Samson, in Salzburg as Handel’s 17. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) under Minkowski, Concert d’Astrée under Haim, Solomon and Der Daemon in the world premiere of Ah! How Sweet it is to Love [1.55] Philharmonia Baroque under McGegan, Berlin Henze’s L’Upupa and in Munich as Jonathan in Saul, Philharmonic under Haitink, Kraemer and Rattle, New Oronte in Alcina and Orfeo, which won the Munich 18. Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) York Philharmonic under Masur, Boston Symphony under Festival Prize. I attempt from love’s sickness [1.51] Ozawa, San Francisco Symphony under Tate, Vienna 19 - 21 Sir Michael Tippett Philharmonic under Sir Roger Norrington, Trevor Pinnock Songs for Ariel and Welser-Moest, Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment 19. Come unto these yellow sands [1.53] under Rattle, Cleveland Orchestra under Welser-Moest 20. Full fathom five [2.03] and both the Orchestra of the Maggio Musicale Fiorentino 21. Where the bee sucks [1.17] and the Orchestre de Paris under Giulini. Total Time [72.46] His discography includes the Evangelist in the St. Matthew Passion under Ozawa, Rameau’s Dardanus with Minkowski, the Britten Spring Symphony with Gardiner and L’Heure Espagnol with Previn. His song repertoire Tippett’s songs are few in number, but dazzling in quality. We contrast them here with one of includes Schubert, Vaughan Williams, Purcell, Fauré, Tippett’s sources of inspiration - Henry Purcell. Mozart, Warlock, Quilter and Ireland for Hyperion records. This CD is the first in a series of co-productions between SignumClassics and BBC Radio 3’s “Voices” programme. He has sung Don Ottavio at the festivals of Aix-en- Presented by Iain Burnside, “Voices” explores every aspect of the voice across all genres. “Voices” is on BBC Provence, directed by Brook and conducted by Abbado, Radio 3 every Tuesday 16.00 - 17.00. (90.2 - 92.4 FM and digital radio.) and Glyndebourne, directed by Warner and conducted by Rattle, with the San Francisco Opera, Dresden Opera, and Royal Opera House Covent Garden under Mackerras. He john mark ainsley iain burnside

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Full fathom five Where the bee sucks

remember your lovers Full fathom five thy father lies, Where the bee sucks there suck I: Of his bones are coral made; In a cow-slip’s bell I lie; Those are pearls that were his eyes: There I couch when owls do cry. Nothing of him that doth fade, On a bat’s back I do fly It is hard not to feel wistful when you look at the songs of him unable to reciprocate her passion. Devastated by her But doth suffer a sea-change after summer merrily, Into something rich and strange. Merrily, merrily do I live now Michael Tippett. The man chose quality over quantity. death, he took five years to turn his emotions into music. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Damn it, why not both? Not for him Britten’s or Finzi’s For his texts Tippett turned to two young poets killed in Ding-dong. stream of song writing trickling down through the the Second World War: Sidney Keyes was 20 and Alun Hark! now I hear them, - ding-dong bell. decades, gradually unfolding autobiographical insight. Lewis only 19 when they died. As befits a composer who Instead, Tippett gives us two bursts of greatness and served time in Wormwood Scrubs for his pacifist then - some tantalising occasional pieces aside - calls it convictions, he chose five poems where not a shot is fired. a day. Good news for opera companies, solo pianists and War, here, is the backdrop, not stage centre. Indeed, you string quartets. Bad news for the world of song. will look in vain for details or locations specific to the Second World War. The landscape of the songs is To whinge, though, would be churlish. Let us instead offer universal, and would have been recognisable to any of the up thanks for two entirely different masterpieces. The great war song composers: Mahler, Butterworth, Ives. Heart’s Assurance is that rarest of creations: a Second World War songcycle. While both the Boer War and the Tippett wrote the cycle “to commemorate all those who Flanders trenches left poignant legacies in words and lost their lives and loves in the brutality of battle. I music, different creative impulses were set in motion by thought of the song-cycle as having a subtitle: ‘Love the horrors of World War II. In song, Tippett’s cycle stands under the shadow of Death.’” Not for nothing is a alone in stature. Boyhood’s End breaks other moulds, poemgod-faced called centaur Compassion the centrepiece of the cycle. exploring the cusp between adolescence and adulthood. And an unashamedly sexual centrepiece it is too, Tippett sculpts an unlikely slab of prose into something the tenor mounting to a phallic top B to invoke the even more unlikely - a bold, invigorating Purcellian cantata. .

The Heart’s Assurance remembers one lover in All the songs show blazing personal commitment. Tippett particular, and commemorates a very particular sort of wrestles his poems to the ground. He repeats lines fast, love. In 1945 Tippett’s great friend Francesca Allinson he repeats them slow; he splits words into great committed suicide, her despair at the war compounded melismatic howls; he throws metre out the window. The by deep personal unhappiness; Tippett’s sexuality made simplest and most memorable vocal effect of all comes in

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When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; I attempt from love’s sickness Remember your lovers, where each verse begins with In casting around for a tenor soloist he came across a For I have more. Henry Purcell an unaccompanied refrain: recitative morphed into young man called Peter Pears, while a shared enthusiasm (Tippett / Bergmann) bugle call. for Purcell led Tippett in turn to Pears’s partner Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Solo (Zempoalla): I attempt from Love’s sickness - Others to sin, and made my sins their door? From The Indian Queen Benjamin Britten. Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun The voice he was writing for was Peter Pears. Who else A year or two, but wallow’d in a score? I attempt from Love’s sickness to fly in vain, would have been game enough to take it on? There is The Purcell realisations on this disc were made by Tippett When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; Since I am myself my own fever and pain. quiet homage on the last page of Song, where Tippett sits in tandem with his choral director at Morley College, Bear and Pleiades For I have more. No more now, fond heart, with pride no more swell, his tenor on a high E, famously Pears’s favourite note; it Walter Bergmann. Tippett and Bergmann shared with Thou canst not raise forces enough to rebel. I have a sin of fear, that when I’ve spun is a cross reference, too, to the monologue Now the Great Britten the urge to bring these songs out of the library My last thread, I shall perish on the shore; For Love has more pow’r and less mercy than fate in Britten’s Peter Grimes. Tippett’s and into the concert hall. What strikes me most, half a But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son To make us seek ruin and love those that hate. piano writing sat less comfortably with Britten’s fingers; century on, is how stylish these realisations are. While Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore: after giving the premiere of The Heart’s Assurance he Britten’s dense pianistic approach now jars on ears that And having done that, Thou hast done; Songs for Ariel never played it again, resenting the level of practice it have undergone the Early Music revolution, Tippett and I fear no more. Sir Michael Tippett Text: William Shakespeare demanded. All five songs have markedly original textures. Bergmann stay light on their feet. Their touch is deft; Ah! How Sweet it is to Love The intensity of the slow songs owes much to the contrast composer ego is kept to a characteristic minimum; the Henry Purcell Come unto these yellow sands between long, sustained vocal lines and constant spotlight stays firmly on Purcell himself. (Tippett / Bergmann) pianistic activity. Even when Tippett’s harmony moves Text: John Dryden Come unto these yellow sands, slowly there is subterranean movement. So many scales Another product of bomb-struck Morley College was And then take hands: Ah, how sweet it is to love! Curtsied when you have and kissed, for the left hand! Had Tippett been leafing through his Tippett’s cantata Boyhood’s End, written for Pears and Ah, how gay is young Desire! The wild waves whist: Fitzwilliam Virginal Book? The passagework feels like Britten in 1943. Tippett’s model here was Purcell’s And what pleasing pain we prove Foot it featly here and there; John Bull or Orlando Gibbons. Blessed Virgin’s Expostulation, a work he adored, When first we feel our Love’s fire! And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. with its mixture of recitative and arioso, its quicksilver Pains of love are sweeter far The composer who leans over Tippett’s shoulder changes of mood. Where, though, did Tippett get the Than all other pleasures are. Hark, hark! Bow-wow. throughout this disc, though, is Henry Purcell. It was idea to apply this model not to a poem, but to an extract The watch dogs bark; Francesca Allinson who first alerted Tippett to Purcell’s from WH Hudson’s autobiography Far Away and Bow-wow. vitality and originality, but his moment of epiphany came Long Ago? Suddenly, instead of war-torn Lambeth, Hark, hark! after an air-raid in 1940, in the bombed out rubble of we are in the Argentine in the middle of the 19th I hear the strain of strutting chanticleer London’s Morley College. Tippett, soon to become the century, surrounded by exotic plants and fabulous birds. Cry, Cock-a-diddle dow. College’s Music Director, stumbled on some Purcell in the We are poised on the brink of adulthood, awareness debris. He opened the books, was gripped by what he saw intensified by jangling hormones, asking the raw and started programming Purcell in his innovative questions:have? What, then, did I want? What did I ask to College concerts. The consequences were far-reaching. The originality of Tippett’s choice of text is

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breathtaking. There has been nothing like it in English Two occasional works complete our selection. Music can An Epithalamium ‘Tis a soultry day. song before or since. be sung solo or chorally, in unison. Startlingly, this florid Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) He long had courted the black brown Maid; Shelley setting was written for the amateur forces of the Text: Elkanah Settle from incidental music to But Jocky was a Wag and wou’d ne’re consent to wed: The Indian Queen Which made her pish and phoo, As with the later Heart’s Assurance, Tippett did not spare East Sussex and West Kent Choral Festival in 1960. Either And cry it will not do; his soon-to-be-famous performers. The cantata provided the choir was formidable or their rehearsals were Thrice happy lovers, may you be for ever free I cannot, cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot buckle to. a formidable workout for both. His tenor is called on to gruelling: Music is far from simple. Songs for Ariel mark From the tormenting devil jealousy, combine Baroque coloratura with a scat jazz vibe, and to Tippett’s entry into the ranks of Shakespearean From all the anxious cares and strife He told her, Marriage was grown a meer Joke, deliver a Monteverdian trillo on the word ecstasy. He must composers: they are part of his incidental music for the That attends a married life. And that no one wedded now, but the Scoundrel Folk: Yet, my Dear, thou should’st prevail, be high and dramatic one moment, high and floaty the Old Vic Tempest in 1961. The outer songs are full of Be to one another true, But I know not what I ail; next - most cruelly on the sublime, larynx-splittingly Baroque echoes, though radically pared down in texture Kind to her as she’s to you. I shall dream of Clogs and silly Dogs difficult last page. The pianist meanwhile has his own from the exuberance of the earlier songs. Full Fathom And since the errors of the night are past, With Bottles at their Tail. split personalities: Lisztian octaves sit cheek by jowl with Five is an exercise in starkness, its telling austerity May he be ever constant, she be ever chaste. But I’ll give thee Gloves and a Bongrace to wear, spikey harpsichordisms; a-gallop, a-gallop across the underlining the miraculous modulation on sea-change. It And a pretty Filly foal, to ride out and take the Air, What shall I do? If thou ne’re wilt pish and phoo, pampas turns in a matter of seconds into the serenity of is the last of Tippett’s claims to greatness as a Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) And cry it ne’re shall do, floating blue skies. songwriter. Here, to paraphrase Shostakovich, there may Text: Thomas Betterton from incidental I cannot, cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, buckle to. not be many notes; but there is a lot of music. music to Dioclesian Some four years later Britten wrote a companion piece to That you’ll give me Trinkets, cry’d she, I believe; Boyhood’s End - a Purcellian cantata of his own, © Iain Burnside What shall I do to show how much I love her ? But ah, what in return must your poor Jenny give? May 2005 How many million of sighs can suffice? When my Maiden Treasure’s gone, Canticle 1. Like Tippett, Britten gives us four connected That which winds other hearts never can move her; I must gang to London Town; sections, combines recitative and arioso and enjoys those common methods of love she’ll despise, And roar and rant, and patch and paint, melismatic vocal effects. Unlike Tippett, he goes back to I will love more than man e’er lov’d before me, And kiss for half a Crown; the 17th century for his text, to the Renaissance poet gaze on her all the day and melt all the night; Each drunken Bully oblige for pay, Francis Quarles. Drawing heavily on The Song of till for her own sake at last she’ll implore me, And earn a hated Living an odious fulsome way. to love her less no preserve our delight. No, no, no, it ne’re shall do; Solomon, Quarles intertwines the spiritual with the For a Wife I’ll be to you. homoerotic. Listeners and performers alike can be ‘Twas within a furlong of Edinburgh Town Or I cannot, cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, buckle to. forgiven if, by the time they reach Britten’s final section, Henry Purcell the spiritual dimension has fallen by the wayside. This (Tippett / Bergmann) A Hymn to God the Father coda is surely the glory of the work: a dotted rhythm Song written by Mr. D’Urfey Pelham Humfrey (Tippett / Bergmann) Text: John Donne repeated hypnotically under teasingly angular vocal ‘Twas within a Furlong of Edinburgh Town, caresses; Purcellian Scotch snap tranquillised into a In the rosey time of Year when the Grass was down, Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun, gay lullaby. Bonny Jocky blith and gay Which is my sin, though it were done before? Said to Jenny, making Hay, Wilt Thou forgive those sins through which I run, Let us sit a little, Dear, and prattle, And do run still, though still I do deplore?

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Sweeter than roses Ev’n so we met; and after long pursuit, The Heart’s Assurance The only holy limbs are the broken fingers Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) Ev’n so we joyn’d; we both became entire; Sir Michael Tippett Still raised to praise and bless. Text: Anon from incidental music to No need for either to renew a suit, Pausanius, the Betrayer of his Country For I was flax and he was flames of fire: Song For the careless heart is bound in chains Our firm-united souls did more than twine; Text: Alun Lewis And terribly cast down: Sweeter than roses, or cool evening breeze So I my best-beloved’s am; so he is mine. The beast of pride is hunted our On a warm flowery shore, was the dear kiss, Oh journeyman, Oh journeyman And baited throughout the town. First trembling made me freeze, If all those glitt’ring Monarchs that command before this endless belt began Then shot like fire all o’er. The servile quarters of this earthly ball, its cruel revolutions, you and she Compassion What magic has victorious love! Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, naked in Eden, shook the apple tree. Text: Alun Lewis For all I touch or see since that dear kiss, I would not change my fortunes for them all: I hourly prove, all is love to me. Their wealth is but a counter to my coin: Oh soldier lad, oh soldier lad, She in the hurling night The world’s but theirs; but my beloved’s mine. before the soul of things turned bad With lucid simple hands, An evening hymn she offered you so modestly Stoked away his fright Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) Nor Time, nor Place, nor Chance, nor Death can bow a shining apple from the tree. Loosed his blood-soaked bands. Text: Dr. William Fuller My least desires unto the least remove; He’s firmly mine by oath; I his by vow; Oh lonely wife, oh lonely wife, And seriously aware Now, now that the sun hath veil’d his light He’s mine by faith; and I am his by love; before your lover left this life Of the terror she caressed And bid the world goodnight; He’s mine by water; I am his by wine; he took you in his gentle arms. Drew his matted hair To the soft bed my body I dispose, Thus I my best-beloved’s am; thus he is mine. How trivial then were life’s alarms. Gladly to her breast. But where shall my soul repose? Dear, dear God, even in Thy arms, He is my Altar; I his Holy Place, And though death taps down every street And he who babbled Death And can there be any so sweet security! I am his guest; and he, my living food; familiar as the postman on his beat Shivered and drew still Then to thy rest, O my soul! I’m his by penitence; he mine by grace; Remember this, remember this, In the meadows of her breath, And singing, praise the mercy I’m his by purchase; he is mine by blood; that life has trembled in a kiss Restoring his dark will. That prolongs thy days. He’s my supporting elm; and I his vine: from genesis to genesis Thus I my best-beloved’s am; thus he is mine. and what’s transfigured will live on Nor did she ever stir Hallelujah! long after death has come and gone. In the storm’s calm centre He gives me wealth, I give him all my vows: To feel the tail, hooves, fur Canticle 1 I give him songs; he gives me length of dayes. The Heart’s Assurance Of the god-faced centaur. Benjamin Britten With wreaths of grace he crowns my longing brows: Text: Sidney Keyes Text: Francis Quarles And I his Temples with a crown of Praise, Which he accepts as an ev’rlasting signe, O never trust the heart’s assurance Ev’n like two little bank-divided brooks, That I my best-beloved’s am; that he is mine. Trust only the heart’s fear, That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, And what I’m saying is, Go back, my lovely And having rang’d and search’d a thousand nooks, Though you will never hear. Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, Where in a greater current they conjoyn: O never trust your pride of movement So I my best-beloved’s am; so he is mine. Trust only pride’s distress.

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The Dancer From the dark antechamber of desire Music to rise each morning and look out on the sky and the grassy dew- Text: Alun Lewis Into our lust as bright as candle-flame. Sir Michael Tippett wet earth from day to day, from year to year. To watch each June and Text: Percy Bysshe Shelley July for spring, to feel the same old sweet surprise and delight at ‘He’s in his grave and on his head Young men who lie in the carven beds of death, the appearance of each familiar flower, every new-born insect, every I dance,’ the lovely dancer said, Remember your lovers who gave you more than dreams. I pant for the music which is divine, bird returned once more from the north. To listen in a trance of ‘My feet like fireflies illume My heart in its thirst is a dying flower; delight to the wild notes of the golden plover coming once more to The choking blackness of his tomb.’ From the sun sheltering your careless head Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine, the great plain, flying, flying south, flock succeeding flock the Or from the painted devil your quick eye. Loosen the notes in a silver shower; whole day long. Oh, those wild beautiful cries of the golden plover! ‘Had he not died we would have wed, We led you out of terror tenderly Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain, I could exclaim with Hafiz, with but one word changed: “If after a And still I’d dance,’ the dancer said, And fooled you into peace with our soft words I gasp, I faint, till they wake again. thousand years that sound should float o’er my tomb, my bones ‘To keep the creeping sterile doom And gave you all we had and let you die. uprising in their gladness would dance in the sepulchre!” Out of the darkness of my womb.’ Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound, Young men drunk with death’s unquenchable wisdom, More, oh more,—I am thirsting yet; To climb trees and put my hand down in the deep hot nest ‘Our love was always ringed with dread Remember your lovers who gave you more than love. It loosens the serpent which care has bound of the Biente-veo and feel the hot eggs - the five long pointed Of death,’ the lovely dancer said’ Upon my heart to stifle it; cream-coloured eggs with chocolate spots and splashes at the ‘And so I danced for his delight The dissolving strain, through every vein, larger end. To lie on a grassy bank with the blue water between me And scorched the blackened core of night Passes into my heart and brain. and beds of tall bulrushes, listening to the mysterious sounds of With passion bright,’ the dancer said – the wind and of hidden rails and coots and courlans conversing If music be the food of Love Music for a while together in strange human-like tones; to let my sight dwell and ‘And now I dance to earn my bread.’ Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) Henry Purcell (Tippett / Bergmann) feast on the camalote flower amid its floating masses of moist Text: William Shakespeare / Colonel Henry Text: John Dryden and Nathaniel Lee from incidental vivid green leaves – the large alamanda-like flower of a purest Remember your lovers Heveningham from Gentleman’s Journal, June 1692 music to Oedipus divine yellow that when plucked, leaves you with nothing but a Text: Sidney Keyes green stem in your hand. If music be the food of love, Music for a while Young men walking the open streets Sing on till I am fill’d with joy; Shall all your cares beguile: To ride at noon on the hottest days, when the whole earth Of death’s republic, remember your lovers. For then my list’ning soul you move Wond’ring how your pains were eas’d is a-glitter with illusory water, and see the cattle and horses in To pleasures that can never cloy. And disdaining to be pleas’d thousands, covering the plain at their watering-places; to visit When you foresaw with vision prescient Your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare Till Alecto free the dead some haunt of large birds at that still, hot hour and see storks, The planet pain rising across your sky That you are music ev’rywhere. From their eternal bands, ibises, grey herons, egrets of a dazzling whiteness, and rose- We fused your sight in our soft burning beauty: Pleasures invade both eye and ear, Till the snakes drop from her head, coloured spoonbills and flamingoes, standing in the shallow water We laid you down in meadows drunk with cowslips So fierce the transports are, they wound, And the whip from out her hands. in which their motionless forms are reflected. And led you in the ways of our bright city. And all my senses feasted are, Tho’ yet the treat is only sound, Boyhood’s End To lie on my back on the rust-brown grass in January and gaze up Young men who wander death’s vague meadows, Sure I must perish by your charms, Sir Michael Tippett at the wide hot whitey-blue sky, peopled with millions and myriads Remember your lovers who gave you more than flowers. Unless you save me in your arms. Text: William Henry Hudson of glistening balls of thistle-down, ever, ever floating by; to gaze and gaze until they are to me living things and I, in an ecstasy, am When you woke grave-chilled at midnight What, then, did I want? What did I ask to have? If the question had with them, floating in that immense shining void! To pace the pavement of your bitter dream been put to me then, and if I had been capable of expressing what We brought you back to bed and brought you home was in me, I should have replied: I want only to keep what I have;

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