Morgen/Tomorrow (Strauss)

Und morgen wird die Sonne wieder scheinen
und auf dem Wege, den ich gehen werde,
wird uns, die Glücklichen sie wieder einen
inmitten dieser sonnenatmenden Erde…
und zu dem Strand, dem weiten, wogenblauen,
werden wir still und langsam niedersteigen,
stumm werden wir uns in die Augen schauen,
und auf uns sinkt des Glückes stummes Schweigen…

Tomorrow again will shine the sun
And on my sunlit path of earth
Unite us again, as it has done,
And give our bliss another birth…
The spacious beach under wave-blue skies
We’ll reach by descending soft and slow,
And mutely gaze in each other’s eyes,
As over us rapture’s great hush will flow…


I Hear You Calling Me (Charles)

I hear you calling me.
You called me when the moon had veiled her light,
Before I went from you into the night;
I came, – do you remember? – back to you
For one last kiss beneath the kind stars’ light.

I hear you calling me.
And oh, the ringing gladness of your voice!
The words that made my longing heart rejoice
You spoke, – do you remember? – and my heart
Still hears the distant music of your voice.

I hear you calling me.
Though years have stretched their weary length between,
And on your grave the mossy grass is green:
I stand, – do you behold me? – listening here,
Hearing your voice through all the years between.

Ne Poy Krasavitsa Pri Mne (Rachmaninoff)

Ne poy, krasavitsa, pri mne
Tï pesen Gruzii pechal’noy…
Napominayut mne one Druguyu zhizn’,
i bereg dal’niy.
Uvï,napominayut mne
Tvoi zhestokiye napevï
I step’, i noch’, i pri lune
Chertï dalyokoy, bednoy devï!
Ya prizrak milïy, rokovoy,
Tebya uvidev, zabïvayu…
No tï poyosh’,
i predo mnoy Yego ya vnov’ voobrazhayu.
Ne poy krasavitsa pri mne
Tï pesen Gruzii pechal’noy.
Napominayut mne
one Druguyu zhizn’ i bereg dal’niy.

Do not sing to me, my beauty,?
Songs of melancholy Georgia…?
They remind me
Of another life and distant shores.
Alas, your cruel songs
Bring back to my mind
The steppe, the night, and a moonlit face
Of a poor, distant maiden!
I forget this dear and ominous apparition
When I see you…
?But when you sing,
I see it before me again.
Do not sing to me, my beauty,
Songs of melancholy Georgia…
They remind me
Of another life and distant shores.

Songs My Mother Taught Me (Dvorak)

Songs my mother taught me,
In the days long vanished;
Seldom from her eyelids
Were the teardrops banished.
Now I teach my children,
Each melodious measure.
Oft the tears are flowing,
Oft they flow from my memory’s treasure.

Beau Soir/Beautiful Evening (Debussy)

Lorsque au soleil couchant les rivières sont roses,
Et qu’un tiède frisson court sur les champs de blé,
Un conseil d’être heureux semble sortir des choses
Et monter vers le cœur troublé;

Un conseil de goûter le charme d’être au monde,
Cepandant qu’on est jeune et que le soir est beau,
Car nous nous en allons, commes s’en va cette onde:
Elle à la mer, nous au tombeau!

When in the setting sun the rivers are pink,
and a warm gust runs over the fields of wheat,
counsel to be happy seems to emanate from all things
and rise towards the troubled heart;

counsel to taste the charm of being in this world,
whist one is young and the evening is beautiful,
for we depart, as this water departs;
it to the sea, we to the grave!


Music When Soft Voices Die (Quilter)

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap’d for the belovèd’s bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

Allerseelen/All Souls’ Day (Strauss)

Stell auf den Tisch die duftenden Reseden,
Die letzten roten Astern trag herbei,
Und laß uns wieder von der Liebe reden,
Wie einst im Mai.

Gib mir die Hand, daß ich sie heimlich drücke
Und wenn man’s sieht, mir ist es einerlei,
Gib mir nur einen deiner süßen Blicke,
Wie einst im Mai.

Es blüht und duftet heut auf jedem Grabe,
Ein Tag im Jahr ist ja den Toten frei,
Komm an mein Herz, daß ich dich wieder habe,
Wie einst im Mai.

Place on the table the fragrant mignonettes,
Bring inside the last red asters,
and let us speak again of love,
as once we did in May.

Give me your hand, so that I can press it secretly;
and if someone sees us, it’s all the same to me.
Just give me your sweet gaze,
as once you did in May.

Flowers adorn today each grave, sending off their fragrances;
one day in the year are the dead free.
Come close to my heart, so that I can have you again,
as once I did in May.