Harry George Theaker (1873-1954), A Song of Love Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave thy song, nor ever can those trees be …
John Keats – Dolci le udite melodie / Heard melodies are sweet Read More »
Caravaggio, The Musicians, 1595 Elemosina tristedi vecchie arie sperdute,vanità di un’offertache nessuno raccoglie!Primavera di fogliein una via diserta!Poveri ritornelliche passano e ripassanoe sono come uccellidi un cielo musicale!Ariette d’ospedaleche ci sembra domandinoun eco in elemosina!Vedi: nessuno ascolta.Sfogli la tua tristezzamonotona davantialla piccola casaprovinciale che dorme;singhiozzi quel tuo brindisifolle di agonizzantiuna seconda volta,ritorni su’ tuoi piantiostinati …
Edward Atkinson Hornel, Idyl in spring, 1905 All that is leftof the magic of the fair:is this little trumpet,of blue and green tin,blown by a girlas she walks, barefoot, through the fields.But within its forced noteare all the clowns, white ones and red ones,the band all dressed in gaudy gold,the merry-go-round, the calliope, the lights.Just …
Corrado Govoni – La trombettina / The little trumpet Read More »
William Holman Hunt, May morning on Magdalen tower, 1890 Nel tuo liuto il tuono è un facile canto. Dammi orecchie per sentire questo inno. Non mi perderò; l’animo s’alzerà vibrante nella vita infinita nascosta nella morte. Do you know this poem in English? Please contact me Go back to album – R. Tagore
Pablo Picasso, The dawn serenade, 1965 What man is there alive who’d seek to reignsince he must wake into the dream that’s death.The rich man dreams his wealth which is his careand woe. The poor man dreams his sufferings.He dreams who thrives and prospers in this life.He dreams who toils and strives. He dreams who …
Pedro Calderon de la Barca – La vita è sogno / Life is a dream Read More »
Jack Vettriano (b. 1951), Tango dancers The full moon shines in the sea,and you in my heart. The bank expects and becomes older. You never come. Fleeting, the lunar path on the seathat swallowed the ship, with whom long we wandered,led by the desire, playing the flute and harp,combining singing and meat, in the silver wind. …
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