Five Songs of Laurence Hope

“Worth While”
I asked of my desolate shipwrecked soul
“Wouldst thou rather never have met
The one whom thou lovedst beyond control
And whom thou adorest yet?”
Back from the senses, the heart, the brain,
Came the answer swiftly thrown,
“What matter the price? We would pay it again,
We have had, we have loved, we have known!”

“The Jungle Flower”

Thou art one of the jungle flowers, strange and fierce and fair,
Palest amber, perfect lines, and scented with champa flower.
Lie back and frame thy face in the gloom of thy loosened hair;
Sweet thou art and loved — ay, loved — for an hour.
But thought flies far, ah, far, to another breast,
Whose whiteness breaks to the rose of a twin pink flower,
Where wind the azure veins that my lips caressed
When Fate was gentle to me for a too-brief hour.

“Kashmiri Song”

Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar,
Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell?
Whom do you lead on Rapture’s roadway, far,
Before you agonize them in farewell?
Oh, pale dispensers of my Joys and Pains,
Holding the doors of Heaven and of Hell,
How the hot blood rushed wildly through the veins
Beneath your touch, until you waved farewell.
Pale hands, pink tipped, like Lotus buds that float
On those cool waters where we used to dwell,
I would have rather felt you round my throat,
Crushing out life, than waving me farewell!

 “Among the Fuchsias”

Call me not to a secret place
When daylight dies away,
Tempt me not with thine eager face
And words thou shouldst not say.
Entice me not with a child of thine,
Ah, God, if such might be,
For surely a man is half divine
Who adds another link to the line
Whose last link none may see.
Call me not to the Lotus lake
That drooping fuchsias hide,
What if my latent youth awakes
And will not be denied?
Ah, tempt me not for I am not strong
(Thy mouth is a budded kiss)
My days are empty, my nights are long.
Ah, why is a thing so sweet so wrong,
As thy temptation is?

“Till I Wake”

When I am dying, lean over me tenderly, softly…
Stoop, as the yellow roses droop
In the wind from the south;
So I may when I wake – if there be an awakening –
Keep what lulled me to sleep –
The touch of your lips on my mouth.

Five Millay Songs

“I looked in my heart while the wild…”

I looked in my heart while the wild swans went over.
And what did I see I had not seen before?
Only a question less or a question more:
Nothing to match the flight of wild birds flying.
Tiresome heart, forever living and dying,
House without air, I leave you and lock your door.
Wild swans, come over the town, come over
The town again, trailing your legs and crying!

 “Branch by branch”

Branch by branch this tree has died.
Green only is one last bough
Moving its leaves in the sun.
What evil ate its root,
What blight,
What ugly thing?
Let the mole say,
The bird sing,
Or the white worm behind the shedding bark
Tick in the dark.
You and I have only one thing to do,
Saw, saw, saw the trunk through.

“For You There is No Song”

For you there is no song,
Only the shaking of the voice that meant to sing,
The sound of the strong voice breaking.
Strange in my hand appears the pen,
And yours broken
There are ink and tears on the page.
Only the tears have spoken.

“The Return from Town”

As I sat down by Saddle Stream
To bathe my dusty feet there,
A boy was standing on the bridge
Any girl would meet there.
As I went over Woody Knob
And dipped into the Hollow,
A youth was coming up the hill
Any maid would follow.
Then in I turned at my own gate, –
And nothing to be sad for –
To such a man as any wife
Would pass a pretty lad for.

“Gone Again is Summer the Lovely”

Gone, gone again is Summer the lovely,
She that knew not where to hide,
Is gone again like a jeweled fish from the hand,
Is lost on every side.
Mute, mute, I make my way to the garden,
Thither where she last was seen;
The heavy foot of the frost is on the flags there,
Where her light step has been.
Gone, gone again is Summer the lovely,
Gone again on every side,
Lost again like a shining fish from the hand
Into the shadowy tide.

Excerpts from Nightsongs

“Prayer”

I ask you this:
Which way to go?
I ask you this:
Which sin to bear?
Which crown to put
Upon my hair?
I do not know,
Lord God,
I do not know.

 “The Heart of a Woman”

The heart of a woman goes forth with the dawn,
As a lone bird, soft winging, so restlessly on,
Afar o’er life’s turrets and vales does it roam
In the wake of those echoes the heart calls home.
The heart of a woman falls back with the night,
And enters some alien cage in its plight,
And tries to forget it has dreamed of the stars,
While it breaks, breaks, breaks on the sheltering bars.

“Night Song”

The night was made for rest and sleep,
For winds that softly sigh;
It was not made for grief and tears;
So then why do I cry?
The wind that blows through leafy trees
Is soft and warm and sweet;
For me the  is a gracious cloak
To hide my soul’s defeat.
Just one dark hour of shaken depths,
Of bitter black despair-
Another day will find me brave, and not afraid to dare!

“Sence You Went Away”

Seems lak to me de stars don’t shine so bright,
Seems lak to me de sun done loss his light,
Seems lak to me der’s nothin’ goin’ right,
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me de sky ain’t half so blue,
Seems lak to me dat ev’rything wants you,
Seems lak to me I don’t know what to do,
Sence you went away.
Oh ev’ything is wrong,
De day’s jes twice as long,
De bird’s forgot his song
Sence you went away.
Seems lak to me I jes can’t he’p but sigh,
Seems lak to me ma th’oat keeps gittin dry,
Seems lak to me a tear stays in my eye
Sence you went away.

Songs by Florence Price set to poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar

“I Grew a Rose”

I grew a rose within a garden fair,
And, tending it with more than loving care,
I thought how, with the glory of its bloom,
I should the darkness of my life illume;
And, watching, ever smiled to see the lusty bud
Drink freely in the summer sun to tinct its blood.
My rose began to open, and its hue
Was sweet to me as to it sun and dew;
I watched it taking on its ruddy flame
Until the day of perfect blooming came,
Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red—
Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!

“Sympathy”

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals —
I know what the caged bird feels!
I know why the caged bird beats his wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting —
I know why he beats his wing!
I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,–
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart’s deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings —
I know why the caged bird sings!

“The Poet and His Song”

A song is but a little thing,
And yet what joy it is to sing!
In hours of toil it gives me zest,
And when at eve I long for rest;
When cows come home along the bars,
And in the fold I hear the bell,
As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars,
I sing my song, and all is well.
My days are never days of ease;
I till my ground and prune my trees.
When ripened gold is all the plain,
I put my sickle to the grain.
I labor hard, and toil and sweat,
While others dream within the dell;
But even while my brow is wet,
I sing my song, and all is well.
Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,
My garden makes a desert spot;
Sometimes a blight upon the tree
Takes all my fruit away from me;
And then with throes of bitter pain
Rebellious passions rise and swell;
But—life is more than fruit or grain,
And so I sing, and all is well.

Heather McEwen Goldman is a pianist at Bowling Green State University where she accompanies both Volaré and Collegiate Chorale. She is also the Music Director and Organist at First Presbyterian Church in Bowling Green, OH.  She has an MM in Piano Accompanying and Chamber Music from the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, NY where she played for Musica Nova, the Eastman-Rochester Chorus, and toured the country as part of the University of Rochester’s capital campaign. Prior to her time at Eastman, she was a New York City Teaching Fellow and obtained an MS in Math Education from City College in New York. She made her concerto debut with the Toledo Symphony Orchestra. Heather has collaborated with many opera singers and choruses, and enjoys playing chamber music both classical and modern.