SATB a cappella, 4'00" score sample

​Poem by Robert Frost, from A Boy's Will (1913)

A saturated meadow, 
Sun-shaped and jewel-small, 
A circle scarcely wider 
Than the trees around were tall; 
Where winds were quite excluded, 
And the air was stifling sweet 
With the breath of many flowers— 
A temple of the heat. 

There we bowed us in the burning, 
As the sun’s right worship is, 
To pick where none could miss them 
A thousand orchises; 
For though the grass was scattered, 
Yet every second spear 
Seemed tipped with wings of color, 
That tinged the atmosphere. 

We raised a simple prayer 
Before we left the spot, 
That in the general mowing 
That place might be forgot; 
Or if not all so favoured, 
Obtain such grace of hours
That none should mow the grass there 
While so confused with flowers.

see also:
II. In Hardwood Groves (fall)
III. Stars (winter)
IV. A Prayer in Spring (spring)

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