Huub de Lange - Symphony of Dreams - текст песни (слова)

Part 1: Demon
 
 From childhood's hour I have not been
 As others were; I have not seen
 As others saw; I could not bring
 My passions from a common spring.
 From the same source I have not taken
 My sorrow; I could not awaken
 My heart to joy at the same tone;
 And all I loved, I loved alone.
 Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
 Of a most stormy life- was drawn
 From every depth of good and ill
 The mystery which binds me still:
 From the torrent, or the fountain,
 From the red cliff of the mountain,
 From the sun that round me rolled
 In its autumn tint of gold,
 From the lightning in the sky
 As it passed me flying by,
 From the thunder and the storm,
 And the cloud that took the form
 (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
 Of a demon in my view.
 
 Part 2: The Land of Dreams
 
 Awake, awake, my little boy!
 Thou wast thy mother's only joy;
 Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
 Awake! thy father does thee keep.
 
 'O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
 What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
 O father! I saw my mother there,
 Among the lilies by waters fair.
 
 'Among the lambs, clothed in white,
 She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight.
 I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn;
 O! when shall I again return?'
 
 Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
 Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams;
 But tho' calm and warm the waters wide,
 I could not get to the other side.
 
 'Father, O father! what do we here
 In this land of unbelief and fear?
 The Land of Dreams is better far
 Above the light of the morning star.'
 
 Part 3: 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?
 
 Part 5: Written in Early Spring
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes,
 While in a grove I sat reclined,
 In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
 Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
 
 To her fair works did Nature link
 The human soul that through me ran;
 And much it grieved my heart to think
 What man has made of man.
 
 Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
 The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
 And 'tis my faith that every flower
 Enjoys the air it breathes.
 
 The birds around me hopped and played,
 Their thoughts I cannot measure:---
 But the least motion which they made,
 It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
 
 The budding twigs spread out their fan,
 To catch the breezy air;
 And I must think, do all I can,
 That there was pleasure there.
 
 If this belief from heaven be sent,
 If such be Nature's holy plan,
 Have I not reason to lament
 What man has made of man?
 
 Part 8: A Dream within a Dream
 
 Take this kiss upon the brow!
 And, in parting from you now,
 Thus much let me avow-
 You are not wrong, who deem
 That my days have been a dream;
 Yet if hope has flown away
 In a night, or in a day,
 In a vision, or in none,
 Is it therefore the less gone?
 All that we see or seem
 Is but a dream within a dream.
 
 I stand amid the roar
 Of a surf-tormented shore,
 And I hold within my hand
 Grains of the golden sand-
 How few! yet how they creep
 Through my fingers to the deep,
 While I weep- while I weep!
 O God! can I not grasp
 Them with a tighter clasp?
 O God! can I not save
 One from the pitiless wave?
 Is all that we see or seem
 But a dream within a dream?
 
 Part 10: Little Song to end a Symphony of Dreams
 
 Grün ist der Jasminenstrauch
 Abends eingeschlafen,
 Als ihn mit des Morgens Hauch
 Sonnenlichter trafen,
 Ist er schneeweiß aufgewacht:
 "Wie geschah mir in der Nacht?"
 Seht, so geht es Bäumen,
 Die im Frühling träumen.