The Musical Box (Hannah Flagg Gould 시) (창작곡) скачать в хорошем качестве

The Musical Box (Hannah Flagg Gould 시) (창작곡)

미국 시인 Hannah Flagg Gould 의 작품입니다. My little friend, 't is a stormy day, But we are left together; I to listen, and thou to play; So we 'll not heed the weather, The clouds may rise and the tempest come; The winds and the rain may beat: With thee to gently play ‘Sweet Home,’ I feel that home is sweet! The yellow leaf, from the shivering tree, On Autumn's blast is flying; But a spirit of life enshrined in thee, While all abroad is dying, Calls up the shadows of many a year With their joys that were bright as brief; And, if perchance it start the tear, 'T is not the tear of grief. 'T is a hallowed offering of the soul, From her purest fountain gushing; A warm, bright gift, that has spurned control, To the eye for freedom rushing; As music's angel, hovering near To touch the tender key, The numbers of a higher sphere Is pouring forth from thee. And while his powerful, magic hand O'er memory's chords is sweeping, To wake and bring from the spirit-land The things that else were sleeping— It lifts my thoughts to a world to come, Where those parted here shall meet, From the storms of life secure at home, And sing, that home is sweet! My little friend, 't is a stormy day, But we are left together; I to listen, and thou to play; So we 'll not heed the weather, The clouds may rise and the tempest come; The winds and the rain may beat: With thee to gently play ‘Sweet Home,’ I feel that home is sweet! The yellow leaf, from the shivering tree, On Autumn's blast is flying; But a spirit of life enshrined in thee, While all abroad is dying, Calls up the shadows of many a year With their joys that were bright as brief; And, if perchance it start the tear, 'T is not the tear of grief. 'T is a hallowed offering of the soul, From her purest fountain gushing; A warm, bright gift, that has spurned control, To the eye for freedom rushing; As music's angel, hovering near To touch the tender key, The numbers of a higher sphere Is pouring forth from thee. And while his powerful, magic hand O'er memory's chords is sweeping, To wake and bring from the spirit-land The things that else were sleeping— It lifts my thoughts to a world to come, Where those parted here shall meet, From the storms of life secure at home, And sing, that home is sweet!