1. ” Alto Rhapsody / High, pure, soaring , searing line / My orchestra snores. ”
2. ” For the womb the seed sighs / Thresh and turn and disappear / The high silence drowned…. ”
3. ( – Thus I translated my beloved 1778 Tipperary folksong ” The Prison Of Clonmel ” / ” Priosún Cluain Meala” – a stupendous, Mahlerian / ” quasi militare ” vignette, to be repeated four times by my Contralto and Orchstra , each time with my rhythms, colours,
orchestration, etc. a little changed…. )
” One short year ago / I strutted to Ardpatrick / To put lace on my bonnet / / Next Friday evening / they´ll shove my head on a pike / It will be snowing on my soul… ”
4. ” Suppose God is light ? / My eye tries to see itself / Soft horns , clarinets.
5. ” Whisper, whisper ” tramonto ” / Tiptoes through my dark window . / Well, is this, then, death ?