
Requiem aeternam Benjamin Britten
На этой странице вы найдете полный текст песни "Requiem aeternam" от Benjamin Britten. Lyrxo предлагает вам самый полный и точный текст этой композиции без лишних отвлекающих факторов. Узнайте все куплеты и припев, чтобы лучше понять любимую песню и насладиться ею в полной мере. Идеально для фанатов и всех, кто ценит качественную музыку.

Chorus:
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine;
Et lux perpetua luceat eis
Boys:
Te decet hymnus, Deus in Sion:
Et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem;
Exaudi orationem meam
Ad te omnis caro veniet
Chorus:
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine;
Et lux perpetua luceat eis
Tenor:
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires
What candles may be held to speed them at all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine;
Et lux perpetua luceat eis
Boys:
Te decet hymnus, Deus in Sion:
Et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem;
Exaudi orationem meam
Ad te omnis caro veniet
Chorus:
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine;
Et lux perpetua luceat eis
Tenor:
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires
What candles may be held to speed them at all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds
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