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Eric William Barnum
A conductor and composer, Eric William Barnum continues to passionately seek new ground in the choral field. Working with choirs of all kinds, his collaborative leitmotif endeavors to provide intensely meaningful experiences for singers and audiences. Barnum is currently the Director of Choral Activities at Drake University in Des Moines, Iowa and previously, the Director...
Eric William Barnum
The Garden
A sweet song of love with flowing, singable lines and warm sonorities.
SATB a cappella
Set to the Campion’s famous lyric, Cherry-ripe, “the Garden” effuses love and warmth throughout with the use of long, gentle phrases, lush harmonies, and warm textures. Commissioned by Phillip Brown and Hopkins High School, this piece exemplifies a very approachable and meaningful octavo for the age group, with both challenges and joyful climaxes. It is difficult not to delight in the masterful text of Thomas Campion as he gushes forth love without remorse or shame.
Text
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till ‘Cherry-ripe’ themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill’d with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy
Till ‘Cherry-ripe’ themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat’ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till ‘Cherry-ripe’ themselves do cry.
– Thomas Campion (1567–1620)
Text source: English Poetry I: From Chaucer to Gray. The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till ‘Cherry-ripe’ themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill’d with snow;
Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy
Till ‘Cherry-ripe’ themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat’ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till ‘Cherry-ripe’ themselves do cry.
– Thomas Campion (1567–1620)
Text source: English Poetry I: From Chaucer to Gray. The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
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