Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.Īll things have rest, and ripen toward the grave Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Grows green and broad, and takes no care, The folded leaf is woo’d from out the bud ![]() Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm We only toil, who are the first of things, While all things else have rest from weariness?Īll things have rest: why should we toil alone, Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.Īnd in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,Īnd from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.’Īnd utterly consumed with sharp distress, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, There is sweet music here that softer falls Is far beyond the wave we will no longer roam.’ Then some one said, ‘We will return no more’ Īnd all at once they sang, ‘Our island home Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. ![]() Most weary seem’d the sea, weary the oar, Of child, and wife, and slave but evermore His voice was thin, as voices from the grave Īnd deep-asleep he seem’d, yet all awake,Īnd music in his ears his beating heart did make. Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gaveĪnd taste, to him the gushing of the wave The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.īranches they bore of that enchanted stem, In the red West: thro’ mountain clefts the daleīorder’d with palm, and many a winding valeĪ land where all things always seem’d the same!Īnd round about the keel with faces pale, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. Stood sunset-flush’d: and, dew’d with showery drops, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go Īnd some thro’ wavering lights and shadows broke,įrom the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, ‘This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.’Īll round the coast the languid air did swoon,īreathing like one that hath a weary dream.įull-faced above the valley stood the moon Īnd like a downward smoke, the slender streamĪlong the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.Ī land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, ![]() ‘Courage!’ he said, and pointed toward the land, Oh, and he produced the first Pink Floyd single, Arnold Layne. ![]() And most recently he co-produced the beautiful 2020 release Singer Of Tales by Bosnian musician Damir Imamović, a record that builds on the sound he started back in the Nick Drake days, with an international twist. He produced an incredible film doc on Jimi Hendrix and more recently, the breathtaking Amazing Grace about Aretha Franklin, and started Hannibal Records, releasing the likes of Richard & Linda Thompson, Joe King Carrasco (ayeee), Bert Jansch, Sandy Denny, Shirley Collins…often reintroducing these now heritage artists to new audiences. He was a concert organizer, bringing greats like Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Muddy Waters to Europe in the mid-60s (helping fuel the blues movement over there) and was behind the soundboard in Newport when Bob Dylan went electric in 1965 (JUDAS!), one of the most important music moments of all time, a moment that still sounds so powerful and rich. He was a record executive running the UK wing of Electra and serving time as the head of music for Warner Bros films. But Boyd is so much more than the engineer of the English Folk sound.
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