Charlotte Alington Barnard [published as "Claribel
2 voix · Voice, Piano
Chargement de la partition…
The dew lay glitt’ring o’er the grass, A mist lay over the brook, At the earliest beam of the golden sun The swallow her nest forsook. The snowy blooms of the hawthorn tree Lay thickly the ground adorning, The birds were singing in ev’ry bush, At five o’clock in the morning, The birds were singing in ev’ry bush, At five o’clock in the morning. And Bessie the milkmaid merrily sang, For the meadows were fresh and fair. The breeze of the morning kiss’d her brow, And play’d with her nutbrown hair. But oft she turn’d and look’d around As if the silence scorning; ’Twas time for the mower to whet this scythe, At five o’clock in the morning, ’Twas time for the mower to whet his scythe, At five o’clock in the morning. And over the meadows the mowers came, And merry their voices rang, And one among them wended his way To where the milkmaid sang, And as he linger’d by her side, Despite his comrade’s warning, The old, old story was told again, At five o’clock in the morning, The old, old story was told again, At five o’clock in the morning.
OpenScore (CC0)
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