foto: Hugo de Heij

Serenade to Music - Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)

How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank
Here will we sit and let the sound of music creep in our ears:
Soft stillness, and the night.
Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Look how the floor of heaven is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There's not the smallest orb that thou behold'st,
But in this motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young ey'd cherubins;

Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in we cannot hear it.

Come, ho! And wake Diana with a hymn
With sweet touches pierce your mistress' ear,
And draw her home with music.

I am never merry when I hear sweet music.
The reason is your spirits are attentive
The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;

The motions of his spirit are dull as night,
And his affections dark as Erebus.
Let no such man be trusted.

Music! Hark!
It is your music of the house.
Me thinks it sounds much sweeter than by day
Silence bestows that virtue on it.

How many things by season season'd are
To their right praise and true perfection!

Peace, ho!
The moon sleeps with Endymion
And would not be awak'd!

(text: William Shakespeare)

Laatst gewijzigd op: 6-10-2008 22:22