Opera Innovators Series: Karen Slack and Scott Nicholas in Recital

Whispers of pent-up harmonies,
With the mingled fragrance of the trees; 
Faint snatches of half-forgotten song —
Fathers! Torn and numb, —
The boon of light we craved, awaited long,
Has come, has come!

PRICE: Bright Be the Place
Text by George Gordon, Lord Byron

Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
E’er burst from its mortal control
In the orbs of the blessed to shine.

On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine, 
When we know that thy God is with thee.

Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be:
There should not be the shadow of gloom 
In aught that reminds us of thee.

Young flowers and an evergreen tree 
May spring from the spot of thy rest: 
But nor cypress nor yew let us see;
For why should we mourn for the blest?

PRICE: Ships That Pass in the Night
Text by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing; 
I look far out into the pregnant night,
Where I can hear a solemn booming gun
And catch the gleaming of a random light,
That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.

My tearful eyes my soul’s deep hurt are glassing; 
For I would hail and check that ship of ships.
I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud
My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips
And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.

O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,
O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!
Is there no hope for me? Is there no way
That I may sight and check that speeding bark 
Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?

PRICE: I Remember!
Text by Louise C. Wallace

Never shall the sun pour light on a yellow flow’r 
But I see thy hair!
Never again September’s sky
but the blue of thine eyes returning;
Never, never the surging warmth of fire 
Here on my hearthstone burning,
But I remember thee!
I remember thee and my desire!

PRICE: Sacrament
Text by Don Vincent Gray

I watched in awe as rumbling clouds
Dropped torrents on the prostrate earth
I waited half-afraid, half-proud
To watch the miracle, the miracle of birth
I waited, I waited, I wandered in the starry dark 
To let its singing bear me up;
In dewy morning calm
I held communion in a lily’s cup.

PRICE: Winter Idyl
Text by David Morton

The dry-lipped grass curls back 
And bares the pitted stones, 
And the tree, in its new lack, 
Bares, now, its angular bones.

Man looks—and looks away 
From earth to a bleak sky, 
Where, high above the day, 
Where, high above the sky 
The last geese, going by,

Pass the horizon’s rim;
And man, remembering where 
A door will welcome him, 
Turns in the darkening air, 
And takes him there.

PRICE: The Sum
Text by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A little dreaming by the way, 
A little toiling day by day;
A little pain, a little strife,
A little joy—and that is life.

A little short-lived summer’s morn, 
When joy seems all so newly born, 
When one day’s sky is blue above, 
And one bird sings—and that is love.

A little sickening of the years,
The tribute of a few hot tears
Two folded hands, the failing breath, 
And peace at last—and that is death.

Just dreaming, loving, dying so,
The actors in the drama go—
A flitting picture on a wall,
Love, Death, the themes; but is that all?

PRICE: Beyond the Years
Text by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I
Beyond the years the answer lies,
Beyond where brood the grieving skies 
And Night drops tears.
Where Faith rod-chastened smiles to rise 
And doff its fears,
And carping Sorrow pines and dies— 
Beyond the years.

II
Beyond the years the prayer for rest
Shall beat no more within the breast;
The darkness clears,
And Morn perched on the mountain’s crest
Her form uprears— 
The day that is to come is best,
Beyond the years.

III
Beyond the years the soul shall find
That endless peace for which it pined, 
For light appears,
And to the eyes that still were blind 
With blood and tears,
Their sight shall come all unconfined 
Beyond the years.

PRICE: There Be None
Text by George Gordon, Lord Byron

There be none of Beauty’s daughters 
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing 
The charmed ocean’s pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming:

And the midnight moon is weaving 

Her bright chain o’er the deep; 
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant’s asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer’s ocean.

PRICE: Youth
Text by Georgia Douglas Johnson

The dew is on the grasses, dear, 
The blush is on the rose, 
And swift across our dial-youth, 
A shifting shadow goes.

The primrose moments, lush with bliss. 
Exhale and fade away,
Life may renew the Autumn time, 
But nevermore the May!

PRICE: Spring
Text by Florence Price

There are promise and pleasure and hope in the spring, 
That beckon and reckon the future, I know.
The bud and the bee, swaying low on the lea;
The dove cooing late to his nesting mate.

In a dream of ecstasy.
There are laughter and magic and joy in the spring, 
That capture, enrapture my heart, I know.
A lilt on the breeze, that is toss’d by the trees, 
Which doth for me weave like a thrush at eve
A song of ecstasy.

Ah! There are madness and gladness and nothing of sadness. 
That will me and thrill me and fill me, I know.
Life and its weal are to give and to feel
The soul that can ache, the heart that can break
With a pain of ecstacy.

PRICE: Pittance
Text by Don Vincent Gray

We have enough the gale that blusters at the door
And whips up froth along the shore is lost on us
The walls are thin, but warm within and held against the dim 
We have enough though shelves be bare of things to eat,
The stove is cheery? With the heat which fills the house.
The love of brother cradles here and love is life and life is dear 
We have enough.

PRICE: What Do I Care For Morning
Text by Helene Johnson

What do I care for morning, 
For a shivering aspen tree, 
For sun flowers and sumac 
Opening greedily?
What do I care for morning,
For the glare of the rising sun,
For a sparrow’s noisy prating,
For another day begun?
Give me the beauty of evening,
The cool consummation of night, 
And the moon like a love-sick lady, 
Listless and wan and white.
Give me a little valley
Huddled beside a hill,
Like a monk in a monastery,
Safe and contented and still,
Give me the white road glistening, 
A strand of the pale moon’s hair, 
And the tall hemlocks towering 
Dark as the moon is fair.
Oh what do I care for morning, 
Naked and newly born—
Night is here, yielding and tender— 
What do I care for dawn!