Читать книгу The Essential Willa Cather Collection - Уилла Кэсер - Страница 3

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COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; IN LILAC TIME; IN LILAC TIME; COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; (IT ISN'T FAR FROM LONDON!) AND YOU SHALL WANDER HAND IN HAND WITH LOVE IN SUMMER'S WONDERLAND; COME DOWN TO KEW IN LILAC TIME; (IT ISN'T FAR FROM LONDON!)

And then the troubadour begins to thrill the golden street, In the City as the sun sinks low; And in all the gaudy busses there are scores of weary feet Marking time, sweet time, with a dull mechanic beat, And a thousand hearts are plunging to a love they'll never meet, Through the meadows of the sunset, through the poppies and the wheat, In the land where the dead dreams go.

Verdi, Verdi, when you wrote IL TROVATORE did you dream Of the City when the sun sinks low Of the organ and the monkey and the many-colored stream On the Piccadilly pavement, of the myriad eyes that seem To be litten for a moment with a wild Italian gleam As A CHE LA MORTE parodies the world's eternal theme And pulses with the sunset glow?

There's a thief, perhaps, that listens with a face of frozen stone In the City as the sun sinks low; There's a portly man of business with a balance of his own, There's a clerk and there's a butcher of a soft reposeful tone, And they're all them returning to the heavens they have known: They are crammed and jammed in busses and--they're each of them alone In the land where the dead dreams go.

There's a very modish woman and her smile is very bland In the City as the sun sinks low; And her hansom jingles onward, but her little jeweled hand Is clenched a little tighter and she cannot understand What she wants or why she wanders to that undiscovered land, For the parties there are not at all the sort of thing she planned, In the land where the dead dreams go.

There's an Oxford man that listens and his heart is crying out In the City as the sun sinks low; For the barge the eight, the Isis, and the coach's whoop and shout, For the minute gun, the counting and the long disheveled rout, For the howl along the tow-path and a fate that's still in doubt, For a roughened oar to handle and a race to think about In the land where the dead dreams go.

There's a laborer that listen to the voices of the dead In the City as the sun sinks low; And his hand begins to tremble and his face is rather red As he sees a loafer watching him and--there he turns his head And stares into the sunset where his April love is fled, For he hears her softly singing and his lonely soul is led Through the land where the dead dreams go.

There's and old and hardened demi-rep, it's ringing in her ears, In the City as the sun sinks low; With the wild and empty sorrow of the love that blights and sears, Oh, and if she hurries onward, then be sure, be sure she hears, Hears and bears the bitter burden of the unforgotten years, And her laugh's a little harsher and her eyes are brimmed with tears For the land where the dead dreams go.

There's a barrel-organ caroling across a golden street, In the City as the sun sinks low; Though the music's only Verdi there's a world to make it sweet Just as yonder yellow sunset where the earth and heaven meet Mellows all the sooty City! Hark, a hundred thousand feet Are marching on to glory through the poppies and the wheat In the land where the dead dreams go.

So it's Jeremiah, Jeremiah, What have you to say When you meet the garland girls Tripping on their way?

All around my gala hat I wear a wreath of roses (A long and lonely year it is I've waited for the May!)

If any one should ask you, The reason why I wear it is, My own love, my true love, is coming home to-day.

It's buy a bunch of violets for the lady (IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON; IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON!) Buy a bunch of violets for the lady; While the sky burns blue above:

On the other side of the street you'll find it shady (IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON; IT'S LILAC TIME IN LONDON!) But buy a bunch of violets for the lady; And tell her she's your own true love.

There's a barrel-organ caroling across a golden street, In the City as the sun sinks glittering and slow; And the music's not immortal, but the world has made it sweet And enriched it with the harmonies that make a song complete In the deeper heavens of music where the night and morning meet, As it dies into the sunset glow;

And it pulses through the pleasures of the City and the pain That surround the singing organ like a large eternal light, And they've given it a glory and a part of play again In the Symphony that rules the day and night.

And there, as the music changes, The song runs round again; Once more it turns and ranges Through all its joy and pain: Dissects the common carnival Of passions and regrets; And the wheeling world remembers all The wheeling song forgets.

Once more La TRAVIATA sighs Another sadder song: Once more IL TROVATORE cries A tale of deeper wrong; Once more the knights to battle go With sword and shield and lance, Till once, once more, the shattered foe Has whirled into--A DANCE--

Come down to Kew in lilac time; in lilac time; in lilac time; Come down to Kew in lilac time; (it isn't far from London!) And you shall wander hand in hand with Love in summer's wonderland; Come down to Kew in lilac time; (it isn't far from London!)

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