by Henry Copley Greene (1905 - 1973)

Northward
Language: English 
The thrush flies far from the northwind's breath,
Flies far from the land of snow
Where the cold is strong as the hand of death,
And wildly the whirlwinds blow.
But thou art sweet as the pinetree's breath
And kind as the sheltering snow
And my spirit flies to the land of death
And sings where the whirlwinds blow.

Text Authorship:

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):


Researcher for this page: Nich Roehler

This text was added to the website: 2012-05-20
Line count: 8
Word count: 59