gerald finzi - transformations lyrics
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portions of this yew
is a man my grandsire knew
bosomed here at its foot:
this branch may be his wife
a ruddy human life
now turned to a green shoot
these grasses must be made
of her who often prayed
last century, for repose;
and the fair girl long ago
whom i often tried to know
may be entering this rose
so, they are not underground
but as nerves and veins abound
in the growths of upper air
and they feel the sun and rain
and the energy again
that made them what they were!
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