The worst of loves (Where do they go, the faces?) for alto and guitar (mp3) by David Warin Solomons Classical Guitar - Audio

By David Warin Solomons

Setting of a poem by Douglas Dunn - Where do they go, the faces....a song of nostalgia for failed opportunities to get to know people. This is performed by the composer.Where do they go, the faces, the people seenIn glances and longed for, who smile backWondering where the next kiss is coming from?They are seen suddenly, from the top decks of buses,On railway platforms at the tea machine,When the sleep of travelling makes us look for them.A whiff of perfume, an eye, a hat, a shoe,Bring back vague memories of names,Thingummy, that bloke, what’s-her-name.What great thing have I lost, that faces in a crowdShould make me look at them for one I know,What are faces that they must be looked for?But there’s one face, seen only once,A fragment of a crowd. I know enough of her,That face makes me dissatisfied with myself.Those we secretly love, who never know of us,What happens to them? Only this is known,They will never meet us suddenly in pleasant rooms.

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Alto Voice,Guitar - Digital Download

SKU: A0.1059658

Composed by David Warin Solomons. 20th Century. Full Performance. Duration 205. David Warin Solomons #3663835. Published by David Warin Solomons (A0.1059658).

Setting of a poem by Douglas Dunn - Where do they go, the faces....a song of nostalgia for failed opportunities to get to know people. This is performed by the composer.
Where do they go, the faces, the people seen
In glances and longed for, who smile back
Wondering where the next kiss is coming from?

They are seen suddenly, from the top decks of buses,
On railway platforms at the tea machine,
When the sleep of travelling makes us look for them.

A whiff of perfume, an eye, a hat, a shoe,
Bring back vague memories of names,
Thingummy, that bloke, what’s-her-name.

What great thing have I lost, that faces in a crowd
Should make me look at them for one I know,
What are faces that they must be looked for?

But there’s one face, seen only once,
A fragment of a crowd. I know enough of her,
That face makes me dissatisfied with myself.

Those we secretly love, who never know of us,
What happens to them? Only this is known,
They will never meet us suddenly in pleasant rooms.

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