From the recording II. Night Fell
Recorded by Daniel Johansen at Rosehill Cemetery, Chicago, ILOctober 31, 2018
Project Directed by Maureen SmithProduced by Ross Crean and Maureen Smith
Copyright 2019 Ross Crean/Knight & Thorne Music, ASCAP, International. All Rights Reserved.
Lyrics
Text by Florence Ripley Mastin (1886 - 1968)
Night fell one year ago, like this.He had been writing steadily.Among these dusky walls of books, How bright he looked, intense as flame! Suddenly he paused,
The firelight in his hair,And said, “The time has come to go.”I took his hand;We watched the logs burn out;The apple boughs fingered the window;Down the cool, spring nightA slim, white moon leaned to the hill.To-night the trees are budded white,And the same pale moon slips through the dusk.O little buds, tap-tapping on the pane,O white moon,I wonder if he sleeps in woodsWhere there are leaves?Or if he lies in some black trench,His hands, his kind hands, kindling flame that kills? Or if, or if ...He is here now, to bid me last good-night?