Singing in Gaelic is very, very natural to do. I think lends itself very much so to being sung.
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The Rain
(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)
[...] Read more
song performed by Missy Elliott
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pricelessly Impregnable Humanity
You’ve taken my very own scarlet blood O! heavenly son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my astoundingly pristine and timelessly priceless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own venerated milk O! beautiful son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bountifully blossoming and unabashedly impeccable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own intriguing brain O! enamoring son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my celestially amazing and mischievously bouncing; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own silken shadow O! stupendous son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my wonderfully untainted and jubilantly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own uninhibited smile O! majestic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my inimitably magnetic and fabulously effulgent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inscrutable destiny lines O! effervescent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my incredulously handsome and victoriously unimpeachable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inimitably humble name O! royal son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my poignantly iridescent and eternally fructifying; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own romantic artistry O! blazing son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my triumphantly unfettered and symbiotically innocent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own mellifluous voice O! charismatic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bounteously emollient and euphorically fearless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own towering height O! regale son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my indisputably peerless and synergistically truthful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own passionate eyes O! resplendent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my fearlessly humanitarian and tirelessly discovering; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own chocolate brown color O! holistic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my invincibly wondrous and spell-bindingly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own ebullient body contours O! benign son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my immaculately benevolent and magnanimously humanitarian; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own fiery breath O! rhapsodic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my blissfully unadulterated and interminably bubby; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own optimistic face O! vivacious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my timelessly flowering and melodiously rejuvenated; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own broadened shoulders O! magical son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my gloriously unprejudiced and nostalgically rueful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own princely dimples O! victorious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my spotlessly unbiased and surreally panoramic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own compassionate heart O! unshakable son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my adorably sensitive and ubiquitously indomitable; duplicate,
So whereas it was absolutely natural and nothing great that you were my exactly astounding duplicate O! heavenly son;
The greatest of all virtues; the greatest of all gifts; the greatest of all endowment; the greatest of all power; the greatest of all virility; the greatest of all divinity; was infact given to you by the Omniscient Lord; who miraculously blessed you and every organism alike with the pricelessly impregnable religion of “Humanity” to symbiotically survive for an infinite more of your destined lifetimes…
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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I Remember The Time
I remember the time when the Gaelic Footballers of Millstreet
In the Cork County Senior Championship for the best were a hard team to beat
But time does bring change as some like to say so
And that is going back a few decades ago.
Nowadays with Duhallow's best junior footballers Millstreet cannot compete
The downturn for them one can say is complete
But in sport as in life few things stay the same
And Gaelic Football after all is only a game.
The glory days for Millstreet Gaelic Football may be gone
But in the Town in view of Clara life as usual goes on
Though Millstreet glory days in sport Millstreet people like to recall
There is far more to life than Gaelic Football.
Of the North Cork Gaelic Football Clubs Millstreet were to the fore
And against the County's best they often kicked a winning score
And though no Gaelic Senior Football team in Millstreet today
Life as usual goes on in the Town far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Memory From 85
I've always thought that Gaelic Football was a grand and a sporting game
But after witnessing a match between Rockchapel and Kiskeam
Played in the Gaelic Playing Field half a mile from Knocknagree
The uglier side of Gaelic Football was all brought home to me.
'Twas Duhallow B league final on an evening in July
And with little to enthuse about for a neutral such as I
A scrappy game of football and the language it was crude
And both sets of supporters were mouthing loud and rude
And I watched on in silence and I could not feel amused
When a linesman by an old Rockchapel mentor was abused
And one could feel the tension rising and things were boiling to a brawl
And 'twould not be a night for sportsmanship or classical football.
And worse was to come later and an ugly sight to see
A young Rockchapel player assaulting the referee
And when he received his marching orders and refused to leave the field
The ref to intimidation rightly refused to yield.
The ref blew the final whistle with Kiskeam to the fore
They had won a tarnished victory by a mere five points to four
In a brutal game of football they'd survived a gruelling test
But at kicking and at mouthing they had come out second best.
'Twas a sad night for Gaelic Football and Duhallow's night of shame
And I'm not pardoning Kiskeam they must partly share the blame
But for a cup and set of medals and with little else at stake
For their attitude and thuggery Rockchapel took the cake.
The ref's motor van was interfered with and a door lock it got broke
By a wild man from Rockchapel a half crazed gray haired bloke
And this rowdy behaviour over a game of ball
It's no wonder I felt sickened fairly sickened by it all.
I've always thought that Gaelic football did not have an ugly side
That the players and spectators on their native game took pride
But now I know quite different and I see things differently
Since that Duhallow local derby game that was played in Knocknagree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Denny Long Of Annagloor
A two time All Star Gaelic Footballer about him he inspired many a song
The pride of Cork and Millstreet the marvellous Denny Long
Arguably Ireland's finest midfielder when he was in his prime
The memory of his greatness will not fade out in time.
His great positional sense and accurate kicking was a pleasure to behold
And the story of his rise to fame it often has been told
From Annagloor to Croke Park he made it all the way
The cheers rang out for Denny on All Ireland Football Final day.
A Gaelic Football legend of the seventies the years have left him slow
But he was quite a hero some three decades ago
So stylish and athletic Sportsmen like him are rare
And with the best in Ireland he surely do compare.
It was a privilege to have seen him play he was a credit to the game
All Irelands, All Stars and County Championship medals and one who knew great fame
His lengthy and accurate kicking his great useage of the football
A great player the Gaelic Football fans remember and recall.
He reached heights in Gaelic Football that only few attain
And though his better days behind him the memories remain
Of Denny Long of Annagloor a Gaelic Football great
He often gave us reason for to cheer and celebrate
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tim Kennelly
A mighty Gaelic Footballer he inspired the bards to rhyme
He played centre half back for Kerry when he was in his prime
A stalwart of the Listowel Emmetts a famous Gaelic Football Club
And in the Town of listowel he owned a well known pub.
His name was Tim Kennelly one of the Kingdom's best
And he was not found wanting when he was put to the test
But he did not live to be an old man to grow stooped and old and gray
In his very early fifties the great man passed away.
With the greats of Gaelic Football he is surely one to rate
The Listowel Emmetts Clubman was a Kerry G A A great
For Listowel Emmetts and for Kerry he played many a marvellous game
And his name destined to live on in Gaelic Football's Hall Of Fame.
His son Tadgh is a star of Aussie Rules Football for the Sydney Swans Today
And though the mighty Tim Kennelly in eternal rest now lay
He will always be remembered as a Gaelic Footballer supreme
Who won five All Irelands with a famous Kerry team.
poem by Francis Duggan
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King's Highway
Ugh Yeah You should really turn this up
Natural Bridge and King's Highway
as loud as possible (that's what I'm talkin about)
Natural Bridge and King's Highway yeah
ask em' Where you headed?
Natural Bridge and King's Highway (yeah)
Natural Bridge and King's Highway
Come one with it
It's me and my derrty we just got back home
in the blue grey Bently with the cellular phone
Callin' up the 'tics time to get it jumpin'
smoke comin' out the sunroof to let em know we're comin'
Errebody lookin' if you're jealous turn around
21 inches keep me further from the ground
I'm gettin good grip from the Dunlop Tires
The F1's bumpin' but I need the volume higher
Cause there ain't no way get on the basement beat hits
J.E. and Wally got an wanna get some
I heard them haters talkin' but what am I to do?
I'm the men that little hate the Bill Clinton of the Lou'
Picked up some shorties on Skinker towards roastin'
Headed for the castlelot muskada got me croachin
Bently kinda crowded ol car was leanin' back
Shandra watchin' TV with two gurlies on their lap
Martin Luther King the setence kinda dead
Made a left on King's Highway
Natural Bridge is just ahead
So fresh and so clean
U City representin'
the St Lunatics on castlelot set
(Chorus)
Where you headed?
Natural Bridge and King's Highway
Natural Bridge and King's Highway
Come on with it
Where you headed?
Natural Bridge and King's Highway
(Basement beats gon' make it rock the tic's gon make it rock)
Natural Bridge and King's Highway
come on with it
Now rollin' with the tics you know we never bored
show me another click when more points scored
we walk around with criminals a bunch of big gorillas
My derrty Murphy Lee he's a teenage lady killer
Keyjuan is on my left side dancin' with this freak
The way she clap that *** make my knees get weak
JD is the white guy people think he's funny
Been down long time way before we had the money
But now we collectin' dollars from platinum to white gold
Swervin' in this Bentley and ain't got no place to go
[...] Read more
song performed by Nelly
Added by Lucian Velea
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It's Just A Song (Lyric) :
You hear the sound of the song.
It's coming on real strong.
It gives you a sense of strength.
it filters through the air.
It lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It takes you out in space.
Closer to second base.
It follows through so cool.
The smoothest thing for you.
A sound that sounds so clear.
A sound you'll want to hear.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It sends you through the air.
A sound that makes you high.
It makes you feel so good.
A sound that always should.
Just lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song..
Song-Lyric-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
See>>www.edwardspoetry.com
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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The Interpretation of Nature and
I.
MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.
II.
Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.
III.
Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.
IV.
Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.
V.
The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.
VI.
It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.
VII.
The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.
VIII.
Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.
IX.
The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.
X.
The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.
XI.
As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.
XII.
The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.
XIII.
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Natural Gift
See that girl walkin down the street
She looks like a prima donna
Shes a star in her head and the worlds at her feet
She looks at you twice and your heart skips a beat
She didnt learn it at high school or from a glossy magazine
You see shes a natural, she gotta natural gift
You gotta rise above your stupidity
Youre dumb but dont give in
You gotta rise above your station
Discover whats within
And with some luck and dedication and some careful manipulation
Everybody needs some inspiration
Everybody needs some motivation
Mix it up with some imagination
And use your natural gifts, you gotta natural gift
You got natural gifts
Ah, hey, hey, hey, ah, hey, hey
And use your natural gifts, you got natural gifts
You dont have to be a genius to find
All the hidden potential deep in your mind
You dont have to know about nuclear physics
Know all the formulas and vital statistics
You dont have to be an intellectual, you dont have to be a scientist
To use your natural gifts, you got natural gifts, yeh
Use your natural gifts, you got natural gifts
You gotta stop this depression youre in now
Stop this emotional rift, you need a psychological lift now
Everybody needs some inspiration, everybody needs some motivation
Mix it up with some imagination and use your natural gifts
There are bad people, mad people, bitter people, scared people
Wanna put you down and keep you in your place
But you gotta chance to break out, you gotta chance to get out
And use your natural gifts
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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I'm Singing (A Song You Like) :
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..
And if you want me, and need me real bad.
Just call me.
I'm there when you want.
Just call me.
I'm there when you need my love.
I'll give you, the things that you need.
I'll give you, the things that you want.
I'll give you, the love that you need from me..
Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.
When I give you, the love that you need.
Return, your love to me.
Return, your love to me at once..
Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.
And when you call me.
Please want me real bad.
I need you.
I need you real bad.
I love you.
I love you for what you are.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..
Song-Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1988,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
See>>www.edwardspoetry.com
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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A Boyhood Sporting Hero
Most boys have their sporting heroes and mine played Gaelic Football
The mighty Mick O Connell the greatest I recall
But Mick O played for Kerry and Cork my favourite team
And to play football good as him was many school boy's dream
The finest Gaelic Footballer that I have ever seen
Not rough or hard in any way but classical and clean
And though that was many years ago and far so far away
Of great player from Valentia the memory with me stay.
When Mick O's playing days were over he faded from the scene
But memories of his playing feats will remain evergreen
His high fielding and kicking and his passing of the ball
The complete Gaelic Footballer the greatest of them all.
He never hogged the limelight he seemed so quiet and shy
But he was sporting hero to many school going boy
And even many who did not support Kerry will still tell you today
That Valentia's Mick O Connell was the best they had seen play.
My hero played for Kerry and Cork my favourite team
And to be good a player as him an early teenage dream
But as a Gaelic Footballer I never made the grade
And I won't be remembered for any game I played.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Dan Leary
Dan Leary hard man of Millstreet Gaelic Football
He was a fearless fellow on his day
He took and gave some hard bone crunching tackles
And from a challenge never backed away.
Dan Leary was a hero of my childhood
And a hero in the Millstreet green and gold
And about his bravery on the Gaelic playing fields
Some quite amazing stories have been told.
I often saw Dan Leary play for Millstreet
In summer when the roses were in bloom
Against the better club teams in Cork County
In venues such as Coachford and Macroom.
When Millstreet were a force in Gaelic football
On looking back that seems so long ago
The heroes of my childhood years are ageing
And father time has left them gray and slow.
Dan Leary's sprightly younger brother Willie
A Gaelic footballer one never could forget
Twice in a Munster final in Killarney
Rasping shots from his boot bulged the Kerry net.
Long years ago when I was a young fellow
Four decades back and that's a lengthy span
Dan Leary played at corner back for Millstreet
And in his prime he was a fearless man.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Song Thats Sung..
A song that's sung
tells more than a story
a song that's sung
is sung from the heart
a song that's sung
is a story from the soul
a song that's sung
is the greatest love
a song that's sung
is a give from above
a song that's sung
is an emotion in a melody
a song that's sung
can be whatever you want it to be
a song that's sung
can have a million meanings
a song that's sung
is a diary of emotions...
poem by Emily Summers
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Singing All Day
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing,
Oo, my, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Went down to the station to look for her there,
Looked through the crowds for a glimpse of her hair,
Nothing to see but the crowds keep a-staring at me,
My, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Down in the street, tryn to remember,
Shuffling my feet outside a menswear,
Is that her in the fur coat?
No its not december yet,
My, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Back to the house, maybe shell phone me,
Singing my song, feeling so lonely.
Ill sing very softly, so if the phone rings
I can hear it, I can hear it.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing,
Oo, my, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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Toots Kelleher From Millstreet
In the late forties and all through the fifties and that's going back in time
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet was in his glorious prime
In the game of Gaelic Football the great man knew great fame
And through the length and breadth of Ireland his was a well known name.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet was one of Ireland's best
And he never was found wanting when he was put to the test
The poets and song writers they sung his praises loud
And in Duhallow we revered him of him we felt so proud.
For Cork and his Club Millstreet some marvellous games he played
And despite the passing decades the memories do not fade
Of Toots Kelleher from Millstreet fearless in the field of play
A legend in his life time and a legend still today.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet is at rest forever more
But often in flights of fancy I can hear the mighty roar
Of the Munster final crowd in Killarney when Toots had the football
A memory to cherish and a memory to recall.
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet his praises have been sung
Often watched him play for Millstreet years ago when I was young
Exuberant in victory and gallant in defeat
One who was hero worshipped but never knew conceit.
A Champion Gaelic Footballer we honour him today
Toots Kelleher from Millstreet at peace forever lay
His name will live forever in the history of Gaelic Football
And the Reaper who has claimed him will one day claim us all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Alankar (Decor) -10
Music My Love
'Music my love, singing in heart repletes
I swear on my singing you too love it
My notes, my scales, singing my choice, my taste
When I go on singing sure for repeats
Listen to my singing closing your eyes
Honour you my singing with mind open
And you to my singing you ears sharpen
Never to my singing should you despise'
'Oh me to your singing I close my eyes
And me to your singing with mind open
I pray as your singing in heart repletes
And mine to your singing ears do depise
Not mine but yours, singing not to happen
Music your love, singing yours no repeats'
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Squatter, Three Cornstalks, and the Well
There was a Squatter in the land—
So runs the truthful tale I tell—
There also were three cornstalks, and
There also was the Squatter’s Well.
Singing (slowly): “Sin and sorrer, sin and sor-rer, sin and sor-r-r-rer.”
The Squatter he was full of pluck,
The Cornstalks they were full of sin,
The well it was half full of muck
That many rains had drifted in.
Singing (with increased feeling): “Sin, &c.”
The Squatter hired the Cornstalks Three
To cleanse the well of mud and clay;
And so they started willing-lee
At five-and-twenty bob a day.
Singing (apprehensively): “Sin, &c.”
At five-and-twenty bob the lot—
That’s eight-and-four the day would bring
To each; and so they thought they’d got
A rather soft and easy thing.
Singing (sadly): “Sin, &c.”
The Cornstalks cleaned the well within
A day or two, or thereabout—
And then they worked an awful sin—
A scheme to make the job last out.
Singing (reproachfully): “Sin and sorrer, &c.”
For when the well was cleaned out quite
Of all its logs and muck and clay
They tipped a drayload down at night
And worked to haul it up next day.
Singing (dismally): “Sin, &c.”
But first the eldest, christened Hodge,
He greased the dray-wheel axles, so
The super wouldn’t smell the dodge
And couldn’t let the Squatter know.
Singing (hopelessly): “Sin and sorrer, &c.”
The stuff they surfaced out each day
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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Autumn
As a harvester, at dusk,
Faring down some woody trail
Leading homeward through the musk
Of may-apple and pawpaw,
Hazel-bush, and spice and haw,--
So comes Autumn, swart and hale,
Drooped of frame and slow of stride.
But withal an air of pride
Looming up in stature far
Higher than his shoulders are;
Weary both in arm and limb,
Yet the wholesome heart of him
Sheer at rest and satisfied.
Greet him as with glee of drums
And glad cymbals, as he comes!
Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine.
He the Emperor--the King--
Royal lord of everything
Sagging Plenty's granary floors
And out-bulging all her doors;
He the god of corn and wine,
Honey, milk, and fruit and oil--
Lord of feast, as lord of toil--
Jocund host of yours and mine!
Ho! the revel of his laugh!--
Half is sound of winds, and half
Roar of ruddy blazes drawn
Up the throats of chimneys wide,
Circling which, from side to side,
Faces--lit as by the Dawn,
With her highest tintings on
Tip of nose, and cheek, and chin--
Smile at some old fairy-tale
Of enchanted lovers, in
Silken gown and coat of mail,
With a retinue of elves
Merry as their very selves,
Trooping ever, hand in hand,
Down the dales of Wonderland.
Then the glory of his song!--
Lifting up his dreamy eyes--
Singing haze across the skies;
Singing clouds that trail along
Towering tops of trees that seize
Tufts of them to stanch the breeze;
Singing slanted strands of rain
In between the sky and earth,
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Added by Poetry Lover
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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