Requiescat (2024)
Soprano, violin, cello, theorbo; ca. 7 min.
The composer writes: This composition was inspired by a conversation with a friend about sadness in music. He suggested several symphonic movements as candidates for the title of "the saddest music in the world"; but I held firm to my conviction that the saddest music ever penned was the aria "When I am Laid," from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas.
I'm pleased to acknowledge that my setting of Oscar Wilde's poem Requiescat owes much to Purcell's "When I am Laid." Like Purcell's famous aria, my song is a "baroque" setting: a passacaglia, in a slow 3/4 metre. As well, my text – written by Wilde after the death of his sister, Isola, at the tender age of nine – is intensely tragic.
LISTEN ...
Score and parts available from:
TEXT
(based on a poem by Oscar Wilde)
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman,
So sweetly she grew.
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
The composer writes: This composition was inspired by a conversation with a friend about sadness in music. He suggested several symphonic movements as candidates for the title of "the saddest music in the world"; but I held firm to my conviction that the saddest music ever penned was the aria "When I am Laid," from Purcell's Dido and Aeneas.
I'm pleased to acknowledge that my setting of Oscar Wilde's poem Requiescat owes much to Purcell's "When I am Laid." Like Purcell's famous aria, my song is a "baroque" setting: a passacaglia, in a slow 3/4 metre. As well, my text – written by Wilde after the death of his sister, Isola, at the tender age of nine – is intensely tragic.
LISTEN ...
Score and parts available from:
TEXT
(based on a poem by Oscar Wilde)
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman,
So sweetly she grew.
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
