TheHeathenSquirrel
Nick Worrall - The Darkling Thrush (words by Thomas Hardy, music by Nick Worrall)
Isolated at home due to this coronavirus crisis, wrote this tune and decided to record a fully arranged piece. Thought about writing some lyrics and then realised that these wise words by Thomas Hardy suited the vibe and the metre perfectly, and here we are.
The images are all artistic impressions of the poem by various artists - if they disapprove of their use here then I will remove the video and make one without the offending image.
The Darkling Thrush
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-grey,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
