notAmos Performing Editions 1 Lansdown Place East, Bath BA1 5ET, UK +44 (0) 1225 316145 Performing editions of pre‑classical music with full preview/playback and instant download |
Gustav Holst
(1874 - 1934)
Thou didst delight my eyes
(S.A.T.B. + reduction)
Full score (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item(1874 - 1934)
Thou didst delight my eyes
(S.A.T.B. + reduction)
Printable cover page (PDF), €0.00 for unlimited copies Download this item
If you have any problem obtaining a PDF, please see our help page. If that does not resolve the issue, please click here.
Page 1 of 4
This work, Holst : Thou didst delight my eyes : scoreid 147101, as published by notAmos Performing Editions, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. All relevant attributions should state its URL as https://www.notamos.co.uk/detail.php?scoreid=147101. Permissions beyond the scope of this licence may be available at https://www.notamos.co.uk/index.php?sheet=about.
| Enquire about this score |
| About Gustav Holst |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
| About Gustav Holst |
| Full Catalogue |
| About us | Help, privacy, cookies |
Holst wrote this setting of Bridges' poem in 1903.
Lyrics: Robert Bridges
Thou didst delight my eyes:
Yet who am I? nor first
Nor last nor best, that durst
Once dream of thee for prize;
Nor this the only time
Thou shalt set love to rhyme.
Thou didst delight my ear:
Ah! little praise; thy voice
Makes other hearts rejoice
Makes all ears glad that hear;
And short my joy: but yet,
O song, do not forget.
For what wert thou to me?
How shall I say? The moon,
That pour'd her midnight noon
Upon his wrecking sea;
A sail, that for a day
Has cheered the castaway.
Thou didst delight my eyes:
Yet who am I? nor first
Nor last nor best, that durst
Once dream of thee for prize;
Nor this the only time
Thou shalt set love to rhyme.
Thou didst delight my ear:
Ah! little praise; thy voice
Makes other hearts rejoice
Makes all ears glad that hear;
And short my joy: but yet,
O song, do not forget.
For what wert thou to me?
How shall I say? The moon,
That pour'd her midnight noon
Upon his wrecking sea;
A sail, that for a day
Has cheered the castaway.