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You've selected:
Inside The Dew
SheetMusicPlus
Sheetmusic to print
5 sheet music found
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1
Inside The Dew
Piano, Vocal and Guitar
Guitar,Piano,Vocal,Voice - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.1027952 Composed by L…
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Guitar,Piano,Vocal,Voice - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.1027952 Composed by Lisa Schettner. Celtic,Children,Film/TV,Folk,Renaissance. Score. 11 pages. Liz Schettner #3142481. Published by Liz Schettner (A0.1027952). Official music score for the single Inside The Dew by singer-songwriter Lisa Schettner.Copyright 2015-2017.www.lisaschettner.com
$3.99
3.66 €
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Piano, Vocal and Guitar
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Lisa Schettner
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Inside The Dew
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Liz Schettner
#
SheetMusicPlus
The Poet's Pen for Tenor, Oboe and Piano
Small Ensemble High Voice,Oboe,Piano Accompaniment - Level 5 - Digital Download SKU: A0…
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Small Ensemble High Voice,Oboe,Piano Accompaniment - Level 5 - Digital Download SKU: A0.981218 Composed by Judith Cloud. Contemporary,Standards. Score and parts. 17 pages. Judith Cloud #6689693. Published by Judith Cloud (A0.981218). Composer’s Notes In my parents' library there was an assortment of very old books that I used to leaf through while home for holidays. One of these, The Ladies' Wreath, was of special interest. The inscription inside the front cover read To Miss Sophia Venable by her friend William M. Duphuy, April 25, 1850. Within the collection of romantic short stories and poems was The Poet's Pen from the Greek didactic poet Menecrates. Here was something very different from the overly sentimental offerings in most of the volume. I imagined the solitary lady reading this would feel most exhilarated and even empowered. Ideas for setting the poem came almost immediately, with the oboe as a key figure. Having experimented with a choral setting, I settled on tenor, oboe and piano and in 1989 the piece was completed. I revised The Poet’s Pen in 2016. The Poet's Pen I was a useless reed; no cluster hungMy brow with purple grapes; no blossom flungThe coronet of crimson on my stem;No apple blushed upon me, nor (the gemof flowers) the violet strewed the yellow heathAround my feet; nor jessamine's sweet wreathRobed me in silver: day and night I pinedOn the lone moor, and shivered in the wind.At length a poet found me. From my sideHe smoothed the pale and withered leaves, and dyedMy lips in Helicon. From that high hour,I spoke! my words were flame and living power!All the wide wonders of the earth were mine;Far as the surges roll, or sunbeams's shine;Deep as earth's bosom hides the emerald;High as the hills with thunder-clouds are palled;And there was sweetness round me, that the dewHad never wet so sweet on violets blue.To me the mighty scepter was a wand;The roar of nations pealed at my command.To me the dungeon, sword, and scourge were vain,I smote the smiter, and I broke the chain;Or, towering o'er them all, without a plumeI pierced the purple air, the tempest's gloom,Till blazed th'Olympian glories on my eye,Stars, temples, thrones and gods--infinity. Menecrates of Ephesus (330-270 BC)
$15.00
13.77 €
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Judith Cloud
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The Poet's Pen for Tenor, Oboe and Piano
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Judith Cloud
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SheetMusicPlus
Mysterious Moment for alto flute and string trio
String Trio: violin, viola, cello
String Ensemble,String Trio - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.576736 Composed by…
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String Ensemble,String Trio - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.576736 Composed by David Warin Solomons. 20th Century,Contemporary. Score and parts. 7 pages. David Warin Solomons #119391. Published by David Warin Solomons (A0.576736). Mysterious piece in octatonic mode, originally written for the short story The Door The pdf file contains score and parts. The sound sample is an electronic preview. High up on the grassy hill behind the town there is a door. It stands there in its frame with nothing before or behind it. It is locked shut. There is no key. We climb the hill each day. We play each side of the door, games of hide and seek. But we cannot go through the door. Each day we go there during this long sultry summer holiday. We are fascinated by the structure. Why would anyone put a door up there, in its frame, eternally locked, with nothing before or behind it? Maybe it is all that remains of an ancient house? We play, we wonder, we laugh and play, and we return regularly to our homes in time for tea. Then, one day, as we climb the hill for the umpteenth time, a lady dressed in white arrives before us. We watch her take the key out of her bag and insert it in the lock. We are too far downhill to catch up before she closes the door behind her. As we arrive, puffing and panting, Steve knocks on the door. No answer. Dave knocks on the door more forcefully. We hear a distant swish of robes. Gloria knocks, perhaps a little more timidly as the swishing sound approaches. Estelle begins to knock in her turn and the door suddenly opens wide. We all gasp as we see the lady standing there in glistening robes. Her face is hidden from view by a white shawl, but her piercing eyes still show. Children, she says, welcome all. Do come in, please, the kettle is on. You are just in time for tea. We hesitate, as well we might. How can we come in when there is nothing before or behind the door? But Estelle puts one foot inside and looks back at us with a curious expression of serenity on her face. We follow her. We look around at the new space beyond the door and at the parquet floor beneath our dew-soaked feet. As our eyes become accustomed to the brightness of the interior we catch sight of many signs of the world we have entered, but only fleetingly. They pass before our eyes in an instant and then flee beyond the range of sight. There is a staircase, a hat stand, a distant gleam of an ancient cooker, a faint whiff of scones and boiling jam. As we walk inside, our senses are overwhelmed with the new reality, we are rooted to the spot. Do please sit down, says the lady with a slight catch in her throat. We are seated on wooden chairs along one side of an oak table, although we cannot recall how we got there, some slip of the memory perhaps. We have no sense of foreboding, Estelle's serenity has passed to all of us. We can stay here eating scones and jam until the end of time. The lady removes her shawl and reveals a face as beautiful as anyone's mother's. Her deep black eyes glisten like obsidian. She beams a smile of welcome and pours the tea. I'm glad you have come. I've been expecting you, she begins. You must have a thousand questions, so do please ask away. Well, says Steve, what is this door that we passed through? Is this another world? There is no other world, the lady replies, this is the only one. But there is! There is! starts Dave excitedly, Look!. He gets up quickly from the chair, knocking it over in his haste and rushes to the door to open it. He pulls at it with all his force and reveals a black nothingness behind it. We were on the hill, where's it gone? he shouts, what have you done to it? There is no hill. But you climbed the hill in front of us says Gloria. There is no hill. Even Estelle of the serene demeanour is beginning to look worried. How did we get here then, how did you get here, she asks the lady nervously. We have all been here since the beginning of time, the catch in the lady's throat is becoming more evident. No, we have our families down there in the town cries Estelle You have no families,.
$8.00
7.35 €
#
String Trio: violin, viola, cello
#
David Warin Solomons
#
Mysterious Moment for alto flute and string trio
#
David Warin Solomons
#
SheetMusicPlus
Mysterious Moment for oboe and string trio
Small Ensemble Cello,Oboe,Viola,Violin - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.576733 …
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Small Ensemble Cello,Oboe,Viola,Violin - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.576733 Composed by David Warin Solomons. 20th Century,Contemporary. Score and parts. 7 pages. David Warin Solomons #90581. Published by David Warin Solomons (A0.576733). Mysterious piece in octatonic mode, originally written for the short story The Door The pdf file contains score and parts. The sound sample is an electronic preview. High up on the grassy hill behind the town there is a door. It stands there in its frame with nothing before or behind it. It is locked shut. There is no key. We climb the hill each day. We play each side of the door, games of hide and seek. But we cannot go through the door. Each day we go there during this long sultry summer holiday. We are fascinated by the structure. Why would anyone put a door up there, in its frame, eternally locked, with nothing before or behind it? Maybe it is all that remains of an ancient house? We play, we wonder, we laugh and play, and we return regularly to our homes in time for tea. Then, one day, as we climb the hill for the umpteenth time, a lady dressed in white arrives before us. We watch her take the key out of her bag and insert it in the lock. We are too far downhill to catch up before she closes the door behind her. As we arrive, puffing and panting, Steve knocks on the door. No answer. Dave knocks on the door more forcefully. We hear a distant swish of robes. Gloria knocks, perhaps a little more timidly as the swishing sound approaches. Estelle begins to knock in her turn and the door suddenly opens wide. We all gasp as we see the lady standing there in glistening robes. Her face is hidden from view by a white shawl, but her piercing eyes still show. Children, she says, welcome all. Do come in, please, the kettle is on. You are just in time for tea. We hesitate, as well we might. How can we come in when there is nothing before or behind the door? But Estelle puts one foot inside and looks back at us with a curious expression of serenity on her face. We follow her. We look around at the new space beyond the door and at the parquet floor beneath our dew-soaked feet. As our eyes become accustomed to the brightness of the interior we catch sight of many signs of the world we have entered, but only fleetingly. They pass before our eyes in an instant and then flee beyond the range of sight. There is a staircase, a hat stand, a distant gleam of an ancient cooker, a faint whiff of scones and boiling jam. As we walk inside, our senses are overwhelmed with the new reality, we are rooted to the spot. Do please sit down, says the lady with a slight catch in her throat. We are seated on wooden chairs along one side of an oak table, although we cannot recall how we got there, some slip of the memory perhaps. We have no sense of foreboding, Estelle's serenity has passed to all of us. We can stay here eating scones and jam until the end of time. The lady removes her shawl and reveals a face as beautiful as anyone's mother's. Her deep black eyes glisten like obsidian. She beams a smile of welcome and pours the tea. I'm glad you have come. I've been expecting you, she begins. You must have a thousand questions, so do please ask away. Well, says Steve, what is this door that we passed through? Is this another world? There is no other world, the lady replies, this is the only one. But there is! There is! starts Dave excitedly, Look!. He gets up quickly from the chair, knocking it over in his haste and rushes to the door to open it. He pulls at it with all his force and reveals a black nothingness behind it. We were on the hill, where's it gone? he shouts, what have you done to it? There is no hill. But you climbed the hill in front of us says Gloria. There is no hill. Even Estelle of the serene demeanour is beginning to look worried. How did we get here then, how did you get here, she asks the lady nervously. We have all been here since the beginning of time, the catch in the lady's throat is becoming more evident. No, we have our families down there in the town cries Estelle You have no families,.
$8.00
7.35 €
#
David Warin Solomons
#
Mysterious Moment for oboe and string trio
#
David Warin Solomons
#
SheetMusicPlus
Return Me Home to Frost Laden Trees
Piano solo
Piano Solo - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.1361829 Composed by Jonathon Ericks…
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Piano Solo - Level 3 - Digital Download SKU: A0.1361829 Composed by Jonathon Erickson. 21st Century,Chamber,Contemporary. Score. 4 pages. J. Erickson Compositions #946286. Published by J. Erickson Compositions (A0.1361829). I grew up in North Eastern Minnesota. A place near Lake Superior where temperatures were often in the negatives, snowfall was aplenty, and the morning dew would freeze everything in a sheet of sheer ice. After moving to an area with more wind and less snowfall, and even less trees, forests, and lakes, I began to lament the winter that I had grown up with. Return Me Home to Frost Laden Trees is an homage to the snowstorms I would watch from warm inside the house, staring outside the front window and into the one lamp on our street, where the snow swirled around the forest behind it. This arrangement is specifically for Piano, pared down for more accessable play compared to its orchestral counterpart.
$5.99
5.5 €
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Piano solo
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Jonathon Erickson
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Return Me Home to Frost Laden Trees
#
J. Erickson Compositions
#
SheetMusicPlus
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