Tears of Morning (suite) [very rough demo]

An idea for something that would be a suite rather than an individual song. At the moment it combines a version of Tears of Morning (a setting of two lyrics from Housman’s Last Poems); the air-like guitar piece that would be the basis of a guitar arrangement for that setting and a bridge to the next section; this next section would be my song Sea Fret (here represented by just two verses using a different guitar arrangement to fit in with the first sections, and incorporating some bits from an old guitar piece of mine called Bluebert); and finally, an instrumental interpretation of She Moved Through The Fair based on Davy Graham’s arrangement from the 1960s.

There’s a lot of work to do on this (and the vocals illustrate clearly why you shouldn’t sing just after eating pizza): here, I’m just working out some ideas for an overall structure.

David Harley

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Tears of Morning [demo]

Another Housman setting: words from Last Poems. I’ve followed the example of Michael Raven in using two separate verses that are clearly connected thematically and in form, at least as far as this stand-alone song is concerned. However, in the suite of songs/pieces that this might eventually be used for, XXVI will probably be enough. The suite is going to be gloomy enough as it is…

Mike Raven used a traditional tune for his setting that sounds familiar, but I’m not sure from where. I think I may have heard it attached to The Holy Well but wouldn’t swear to it. That setting is beautifully sung unaccompanied by Joan Mills on the CD ‘A Shropshire Lad’ (with Mike Raven) reviewed here. However, I’ve put a new tune to it. This is one of my ‘get-the-tune-recorded-and-worry-about-the-setting-later’ pieces, strictly a demo.

XXVI

The half-moon westers low, my love,
And the wind brings up the rain;
And wide apart lie we, my love,
And seas between the twain.

I know not if it rains, my love,
In the land where you do lie;
And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,
You know no more than I.

XXVII

The sigh that heaves the grasses
Whence thou wilt never rise
Is of the air that passes
And knows not if it sighs.

The diamond tears adorning
Thy low mound on the lea,
Those are the tears of morning,
That weeps, but not for thee.

David Harley