When friendly summer calls again, Calls again Her little fifers to these hills, We'll go - we two - to that arched fane Of leafage where they prime their bills Before they start to flood the plain With quavers,, minims, shakes, and trills. '- We'll go', I sing; but who shall say What may not chance before that day! And we shall see the waters spring, Waters spring From chinks the scrubby copses crown; And we shall trace their oncreeping To where the cascade tumbles down And sends the bobbing growths aswing, And ferns not quite but almost drown. '- We shall', I say; but who may sing Of what another moon will bring!
Three Songs to Poems by Thomas Hardy
Song Cycle by John (Nicholson) Ireland (1879 - 1962)
1. Summer schemes  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
Text Authorship:
- by Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928), "Summer schemes", appears in Late Lyrics and Earlier with Many Other Verses, first published 1922
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry2. Her song  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
I sang that song on Sunday, To which an idle while, I sang that song on Monday, As fittest to beguile: I sang it as the year outwore, And the new slid in; I thought not what might shape before Another would begin. I sang that song in summer, All unforeknowingly, To him as a new-comer From regions strange to me: I sang it when in afteryears The shades stretched out, And paths were faint; and flocking fears Brought cup-eyed care and doubt. Sings he that song on Sundays In some dim land afar, On Saturdays, or Mondays, As when the evening star Glimpsed in upon his bending face, And my hanging hair, And time untouched me with a trace Of soul-smart or despair?
Text Authorship:
- by Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928), "Her song", appears in Late Lyrics and Earlier with Many Other Verses, first published 1922
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry3. Weathers  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
This is the weather the cuckoo likes, And so do I; When showers betumble the chestnut spikes, And nestlings fly; And the little brown nightingale bills his best, And they sit outside at "The Traveller's Rest", And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest, And citizens dream of the south and west, And so do I. This is the weather the shepherd shuns, And so do I; When beeches drip in browns and duns, And thresh and ply; And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe, And meadow rivulets overflow, And drops on gate bars hang in a row, And rooks in families homeward go, And so do I.
Text Authorship:
- by Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928), "Weathers"
See other settings of this text.
First published in Good Housekeeping, London, May 1922
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
Total word count: 342