| Letra de Canções - Compositor clássico americano John Mitchell
Set by John Mitchell (1941-) op. 71 (1989), from Seven Journeys to Earth, part 4, no. 1.
Text by Emily Brontë (1818-1848)
A little while, a little while
The noisy crowd are barred away;
And I can sing and I can smile
A little while I've holiday!
Where wilt thou go my harassed heart?
Full many a land invites thee now;
And places near, and far apart
Have rest for thee, my weary brow
There is a spot 'mid barren hills
Where winter howls and driving rain
But if the dreary tempest chills
There is a light that warms again
The house is old, the trees are bare
And moonless bends the misty dome
But what on earth is half so dear -
So longed for as the hearth of home?
The mute bird sitting on the stone,
The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The garden-walk with weeds o'ergrown
I love them - how I love them all!
Shall I go there? or shall I seek
Another clime, another sky
Where tongues familiar music speak
In accents dear to memory?
Yes, as I mused, the naked room,
The flickering firelight died away
And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright, unclouded day
A little and a lone green lane
That opened on a common wide
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
Of mountains circling every side
A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air
And, deepening still the dreamlike charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere
That was the scene - I knew it well
I knew the pathways far and near
That winding o'er each billowy swell
Marked out the tracks of wandering deer
Could I have lingered but an hour
It well had paid a week of toil
But truth has banished fancy's power
I hear my dungeon bars recoil
Even as I stood with raptured eye
Absorbed in bliss so deep and dear
My hour of rest had fleeted by
And given me back to weary care
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