1. |
The Road Not Taken
05:44
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Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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2. |
In The Garden
05:41
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We waited for the sun
To break its cloudy prison
(For day was not yet done,
And night still unbegun)
Leaning by the dial.
After many a trial—
We all silent there—
It burst as new-arisen,
Throwing a shade to where
Time travelled at that minute.
Little saw we in it,
But this much I know,
Of lookers on that shade,
Her towards whom it made
Soonest had to go.
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3. |
Midt I Byen
04:00
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Lenge, altfor lenge var mitt hjerte uten sang.
Men nu bor jeg midt i byen som jeg gjorde før engang,
og mitt hjerte svinger frydefullt ved posthusklokkens klang!
Midt i byen, under taket på en gård av jernbetong.
Fjerne åser, trær og trehus kan jeg vinke til: So long!
Landlig fred er bra for mange. Salig hver på sin fasong.
Her på loftet kan jeg høre byens stemme dag og natt:
bilers brøl og trikkers hvin og unge kvinners lyse skratt.
Godt for mennesket å kjenne at han ikke er forlatt.
Byen, alltid byen, til jeg engang slukner brått
som en svart elektrisk lampe når dens glødetråd er gått.
Får jeg lyse litt i byen, så dens sinn blir mindre grått?
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4. |
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Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,
While we all sup sorrow with the poor;
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears;
Oh! Hard times come again no more.
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard Times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh! Hard times come again no more.
While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay,
There are frail forms fainting at the door;
Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say
Oh! Hard times come again no more.
'Tis the song, the sigh of the weary,
Hard Times, hard times, come again no more.
Many days you have lingered around my cabin door;
Oh! Hard times come again no more.
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5. |
Improvisation I
02:32
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6. |
A Wanderers Song
04:13
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A wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels,
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon-wheels;
I hunger for the sea's edge, the limit of the land,
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.
Oh I'll be going, leaving the noises of the street,
To where a lifting foresail-foot is yanking at the sheet;
To a windy, tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride,
Oh I'll be going, going, until I meet the tide.
And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls,
The clucking, sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls,
The songs at the capstan at the hooker warping out,
And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or thereabout.
Oh I am sick of brick and stone, the heart of me is sick,
For windy green, unquiet sea, the realm of Moby Dick;
And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels,
For a wind's in the heart of me, a fire's in my heels.
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7. |
Ghost In This House
05:07
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I don't pick up the mail
I don't pick up the phone
I don't answer the door
I'd just as soon be alone
I don't keep this place up
I just keep the lights down
I don't live in these rooms
I just rattle around
I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm just a shadow upon these walls
As quietly as a mouse I haunt these halls
I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
It took my body and soul
I'm just a ghost in this house
I don't care if it rains
I don't care if it's clear
I don't mind staying in
There's another ghost here
She sits down in your chair
And she shines with your light
And she lays down her head
On your pillow at night
I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm just a shell of the man I was
A living proof of the damage heartbreak does
I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm all that's left of two hearts on fire
That once burned out of control
It took my body, my soul
I'm just a ghost in this house
I'm just a ghost in this house
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8. |
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Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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9. |
Eldorado
03:13
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Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o’er his heart a shadow—
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
‘Shadow,’ said he,
‘Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?’
‘Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,’
The shade replied,—
‘If you seek for Eldorado!’
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10. |
Millom Rosor
03:59
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I Hagen sat Mod'ri med Barnet på Fang,
millom Rosor,
ho log, og ho hyfste det Dagen so lang
millom Rosor,
ho kysste på Auga, ho kysste på Kinn.
"Gud gjeve eg altid såg Kvilstaden din
millom Rosor."
Og Hagen vardt bladlaus, han døjdde kvar Leik,
millom Rosor,
I Stova låg Guten so kald og so bleik
millom Rosor,
Og Mod'ri batt gråtfull kring Kista ein Krans,
no skulde ho altid sjå Kvilstaden hans
millom Rosor.
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11. |
Improvisation II
01:07
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12. |
Stanza For Music
04:42
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I speak not, I trace not, I breath not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is gilt in the fame;
But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thought that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passions, too long for our peace,
Were those hours – can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -
We will part, we will fly to – unite it again!
Oh, thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! – forsake, if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it – whatever thou may’st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reword or reprove;
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign –
Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.
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Petter Udland Johansen Basel, Switzerland
Singer, Musician, Composer.
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