This piece sets music to the William Blake poem, The Fly.
The Fly by William Blake (1757-1827)
Little fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath,
And the want
Of thought is death,
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Stevie Wonder joins Esperanza in the Midnight Sun
Your lips were like a red ruby chalice
warmer than a summer night
The clouds were like an alabaster palace
rising to a snowy height
Each star its own aurora borealis
Suddenly you held me tight
I could see the Midnight Sun.
Footprints with Wayne Shorter
|
No comments:
Post a Comment