dirge and hymeneal - gustav holst lyrics
woe! woe ! this is death’s hour
of spring; behold his flower!
fair babe of life, to whom
death, and the dreamy tomb
was nothing yesterday
and now is all!
the maiden, from her play
beside her lover g*y
the church*yard voices call
tolling so slow
woe! woe!
joy! joy! it is love’s day;
strew the young conqueror’s way
with summer’s glories young
o’er which the birds have sung
bright weeds from fairy rings;
here, there, away!
joy, joy the tree*bird sings
joy, joy, a hundred springs’
melodies ever say, **
maiden and boy
joy! joy!
she cut the roses down
and wreathed her bridal crown
death, playful, called her,’blossom,’
and tore her from life’s bosom
fair maiden, or fair ghost, **
which is thy name? **
come to the spectral host;
they pity thee the most
and, to the cold world’s shame
soft cry they, low
woe! woe!
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