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Incantation
Price: $8.00 ea (License
to create copies,
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PayPal)
I. The Little Clock
II.
Where, O Where?
III. Fair Annet’s
Song
IV. Incantation
V.
Little Elegy
Soprano solo/piano
Secular texts in
English by Elinor
Wylie
Duration: thirteen
minutes
Difficulty rating (1-5): 4+ Premiered November 2, 2003 by Angela Presutti, soprano with Paul Carey, piano Complete perusal score available upon request.
TEXTS
The Little Clock
The little clock half-past-four and the
first bird waking,
Falling on my heart like a thin green
leaf.
If you are alive, your heart is breaking,
If you are dead, you are done with grief.
Half-past-five and the birds singing
sweetly,
World washed silver with the rain and the
wind.
If you are a saint, you have lived
discreetly,
If you are a sinner, you have surely
sinned.
Half-past-seven and the birds singing
madly,
Sun flames up in the sky like a lark.
If there are things to remember sadly,
Wait and remember them after dark.
Where, O Where? I need not die to go so far You cannot know my escape, my retreat, And the prints of my feet Written in blood or dew; They shall be hid from you, In fern-seed lost or the soft flakes of frost. They will turn somewhere under water, Over air, to earth space or stellar, Or the garret or the cellar Of the house next door, You shall see me no more though each night I hide in your bed, At your side.
Fair Annet’s Song
One thing comes and another thing
goes:
Frosts in November drive away the
rose;
Like a blowing ember the wind-flower
blows
And drives away the snows.
It is sad to remember and sorrowful to
pray:
Let us laugh and be merry,
Who have seen today the last of the
cherry
And the first of the May;
And neither one will stay.
One thing comes and another thing
goes:
Frosts in November drive away the
rose;
Like a blowing ember the wind-flower
blows
And drives away the snows.
Incantation A white well in a black cave; A bright shell in a dark wave A white rose black brambles hood; Smooth bright snows in a dark wood. A flung white glove in a dark fight; A white dove on a wild black night. A white door in a black lane; A bright core to bitter black pain. A white hand waved from dark walls; In a burnt black land bright waterfalls. A bright spark where black ashes are; In the smothering dark one bright star. Little Elegy
Withouten you no rose can grow;
No leaf be green if never seen your
sweetest face;
No bird have grace or power to sing;
Or anything be kind, or fair,
And you nowhere.
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| PAUL CAREY
composer / conductor All materials and information on this site © 2008 Paul Carey and respective music publishers No part of this site or its contents may be reproduced without written consent. 
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