La Belle Dame sans Merci

Words : John Keats (1795-1821)
Music : Charles Villiers Stanford (1852-1924)
Tenor : Ian Bostridge
Piano : Julius Drake


Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true'.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

massacres e sangue

Voglio stragi
Molto raccomandabile.
Roubado à Rita.

Henryk Górecki

Henryk Górecki. Vítima de doença prolongada, o compositor polaco faleceu dia 12 de Novembro num hospital de Katowice, com 76 anos.
Symphony No. 3 "Sorrowful Songs"

Se não fossem elas...

O direito de ser infeliz

    "We prefer to do things comfortably" - said the Controller.

    "But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin."

    "In fact," said Mustapha Mond, "you're claiming the right to be unhappy."

    "All right then," said the Savage defiantly, "I'm claiming the right to be unhappy."

    "Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen to-morrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind." There was a long silence.

    "I claim them all," said the Savage at last.

    Mustapha Mond shrugged his shoulders. "You're welcome," he said.

(Aldous Huxley - Brave New World)

Voz de mulher 4

Janis.

Don’t you forget me, Lord.
Well I don’t think I’m any very special
Kind of person down here, I know better,
But I don’t think you’re gonna find anybody,
Not anybody who could say that they tried like I tried,
The worst you can say all about me
Is that I’m never satisfied.

Voz de mulher 3

Nina Persson