Citatepedia^®.com

The only one I really like is a song called Saccharine.

quote by David Coverdale
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Would you ever believe

WOULD YOU EVER believe if I called a nondescript table of teakwood; as a vivacious bird soaring high in the sky,

Would you ever believe if I called a ruffled sheet of paper; as a chunk of glittering gold,

Would you ever believe if I called a grandiloquent watch embodied with diamonds; as a lump of bedraggled stone,

Would you ever believe if I called a mountain of compacted mud; as a switchboard of pugnacious electricity,

Would you ever believe if I called a resplendent rainbow in the sky; as a broomstick with incongruous bristles,

Would you ever believe if I called a rusty canister of dilapidated iron; as a mesmerizing rose growing in the garden,

Would you ever believe if I called a pink tablet of luxury soap; as a mosquito hovering acrimoniously in the cloistered room,

Would you ever believe if I called a boat rollicking merrily on the undulating waves; as a rustic jungle spider,

Would you ever believe if I called a valley profusely embedded with snow; as an unscrupulous dog on the street,

Would you ever believe if I called a pair of luscious lips; as a disdainfully fetid shoe,

Would you ever believe if I called a fluorescent rod of light; as a jagged bush of cactus growing in the sweltering desert,

Would you ever believe if I called the blazing sun; as a pudgy bar of delectable chocolate,
Would you ever believe if I called an angular sculptured bone; as acid bubbling in a swanky bottle,

Would you ever believe if I called a scintillating oyster; as an inarticulate matchstick coated with lead,

Would you ever believe if I called a cluster of bells jingling from the ceiling; as a sordid cockroach philandering beside the lavatory seat,

Would you ever believe if I called a fruit of succulent coconut; as a dead mans morbid tooth,

Would you ever believe If I called a steaming cup of filter coffee; as gaudily colored water emanating from the street fountains,

Would you ever believe if I called the majestic statue of a revered historian; as a slab of tangy peanut butter,

Would you ever believe if I called a vibrant shirt; as a protuberant pigeon discerningly pecking its beak at grains scattered on the floor,

Would you ever believe if I called a flocculent bud of cotton; as a camouflaged lizard transgressing through wild projections of grass,

Would you ever believe if I called a photograph depicting the steep gorges; as a gutter inundated with obnoxious sewage,

Would you ever believe if I called a lanky giraffe; as a convict nefariously lurking through solitary streets of the city,

Would you ever believe if I called a pair of flamboyant sunglasses; as a weird tattoo to be adhered to the chest,

Would you ever believe if I called a chicken’s egg; as logs of sooty charcoal abundantly stashed in the colossal warehouse,

Would you ever believe if I called a biscuit replete with golden honey; as a ominously slithering reptile in the jungles,

Would you ever believe if I called a bald man possessing a profoundly tonsured scalp; as a gas balloon floating in insipid air,

[...] Read more

poem by Nikhil Parekh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Song of Honour

I climbed a hill as light fell short,
And rooks came home in scramble sort,
And filled the trees and flapped and fought
And sang themselves to sleep;
An owl from nowhere with no sound
Swung by and soon was nowhere found,
I heard him calling half-way round,
Holloing loud and deep;
A pair of stars, faint pins of light,
Then many a star, sailed into sight,
And all the stars, the flower of night,
Were round me at a leap;
To tell how still the valleys lay
I heard a watchdog miles away,
And bells of distant sheep.
I heard no sound of bird or bell,
The mastiff in a slumber fell,
I stared into the sky,
As wondering men have always done
Since beauty and the stars were one
Though none so hard as I.
It seemed, so still the valleys were,
As if the whole world knelt at prayer,
Save me and me alone;
So pure and wide that silence was
I feared to bend a blade of grass,
And there I stood like stone.
There, sharp and sudden, there I heard -
Ah! some wild lovesick singing bird
Woke singing in the trees?
The nightingale and babble-wren
Were in the English greenwood then,
And you heard one of these?
The babble-wren and nightingale
Sang in the Abyssinian vale
That season of the year!
Yet, true enough, I heard them plain,
I heard them both again, again,
As sharp and sweet and clear
As if the Abyssinian tree
Had thrust a bough across the sea,
Had thrust a bough across to me
With music for my ear!
I heard them both, and oh! I heard
The song of every singing bird
That sings beneath the sky,
And with the song of lark and wren
The song of mountains, moths and men
And seas and rainbows vie!
I heard the universal choir,

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Hodgson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Song Of Honour

I climbed a hill as light fell short,
And rooks came home in scramble sort,
And filled the trees and flapped and fought
And sang themselves to sleep;
An owl from nowhere with no sound
Swung by and soon was nowhere found,
I heard him calling half-way round,
Holloing loud and deep;
A pair of stars, faint pins of light,
Then many a star, sailed into sight,
And all the stars, the flower of night,
Were round me at a leap;
To tell how still the valleys lay
I heard a watchdog miles away. . . .
And bells of distant sheep.

I heard no more of bird or bell,
The mastiff in a slumber fell,
I stared into the sky,
As wondering men have always done
Since beauty and the stars were one,
Though none so hard as I.

It seemed, so still the valleys were,
As if the whole world knelt in prayer,
Save me and me alone;
So pure and wide that silence was
I feared to bend a blade of grass,
And there I stood like a stone.

There, sharp and sudden, there I heard --
Ah! Some wild lovesick singing bird
Woke singing in the trees?
The nightingale and babble-wren
Were in the English greenwood then,
And you heard one of these?

The babble-wren and the nightingale
Sang in the Abyssinian vale
That season of the year!
Yet, true enough, I heard them plain,
I heard them both again, again,
As sharp and sweet and clear
As if the Abyssinian tree
Had thrust a bough across the sea,
Had thrust a bough across to me
With music for my ear!

I heard them both, and oh! I heard
The song of every singing bird

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Hodgson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sing Along To The Song Of The Sea

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the wash of white, wild weather’s wave,
As it gushes galore
Onto strand’s silver shore,
Like a ghost from a galleon’s grave.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the shout of coarse cannon’s rough roar
That rang round Britain’s bays
In Drake’s drum’s finest days,
When England and Spain went to war.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the piping aboard of massed men,
As brave sailors set sail,
Swearing never to fail
If England is threatened again.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the murmur of muttering crew
Who sent cruel Captain Bligh
All adrift ’neath the sky,
As the Bounty retreated from view.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the hovering hum of the heat
In the eye that is formed
In a tropical storm
As it seems to have paused for a sleep.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the pitter and patter of rain,
Which refuses to stop
Until every last drop
Is returned with its might to the main.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the thrash of the threatening tide,
As it rushes, so rough,
In great gales from the gulf,
Fetching flotsam along for the ride.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the moan of a shuddering mast,
As it bends in the gale,
Which hopes it will fail
In the force of its battering blast.

Sing along, sing along to the song of the sea
In the clap of loud thunder’s harsh crack,

[...] Read more

poem by C. Richard Miles
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

[...] Read more

poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

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
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Rap Song

[wyclef]
Wyclef on guitar.. with the black eyed peas
Here go the rap song, they wanna sing it to yall
[chorus one]
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
[verse one]
Youre like a hip-hop song yknow
I wanna be your buddy like de la soul
Let me rock +them+ bells like Im ll
I like you in a kangol and gazelles
Heres a ticket come and see me on my planet rock
Like the daddy kane, I can be your smooth op
But wait-uh every month youre the flavor
I wanna get a scoop - lat-uh!
[chorus two]
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song ..
She make me clap (hows that) cause she a rap song
She like a rap song
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song ..
She make me clap (hows that) cause she a rap song
She like a rap song
[verse two]
She was the, public enemy #1
She was my, mona lisa when we first begun
She got me, jump-in around like everlast
Singin a, rap life with help from tash
She be my, metronome rhythm to my feet
And when we, when we do it do it to the beat
She like, my melody done by eric b., and rakim
Cause she be rockin me steadily, yo
[chorus three]
Yo, she got hips to hops
And she aint goin pop
She like a record that I wanna rock
When Im rollin in my ride cruisin down my block
Yo, and if she was a rap song
Shed be bonita applebum
And I wanna put you on
Im puttin you on, youre my favorite song
[chorus two]
[verse three]
She makes me say ho but she aint a hoe!!
She got it made with special ed (? ? ) hoe!!
Her bass is everlasting like rodney os
She myself and I comin from the +soul+

[...] Read more

song performed by Black Eyed Peas
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Rap Song (feat. Wycleaf Jean)

Wyclef]
Wyclef on guitar.. with the Black Eyed Peas
Here go the rap song, they wanna sing it to y'all
[Chorus One]
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
[Verse One]
You're like a hip-hop song y'know
I wanna be your "Buddy" like De La Soul
Let me "Rock +them+ Bells" like I'm LL
I like you in a Kangol and Gazelles
Here's a ticket come and see me on my "Planet Rock"
Like the Daddy Kane, I can be your "Smooth Op'"
But wait-uh every month you're the flavor
I wanna get a scoop - lat-uh!
[Chorus Two]
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song ..
She make me clap (how's that) cause she a rap song
She like a rap song
She like a rap song (she like a rap song)
She like a rap song ..
She make me clap (how's that) cause she a rap song
She like a rap song
[Verse Two]
She was the, "Public Enemy #1"
She was my, "Mona Lisa" when we first begun
She got me, "Jump-in' Around" like Everlast
Singin a, "Rap Life" with help from Tash
She be my, metronome rhythm to my feet
And when we, when we do it do it to the beat
She like, "My Melody" done by Eric B., and Rakim
cause she be rockin me steadily, yo
[Chorus Three]
Yo, she got hips to hops
and she ain't goin pop
She like a record that I wanna rock
when I'm rollin in my ride cruisin down my block
Yo, and if she was a rap song
She'd be "Bonita Applebum"
And I wanna put you on
I'm puttin you on, you're my favorite song
[Chorus Two]
[Verse Three]
She makes me say 'ho' but she ain't a "HOE!!"
She "Got it Made" with Special Ed (??) "HOE!!"
Her bass is everlasting like Rodney O's
She "Myself and I" comin from the +Soul+

[...] Read more

song performed by Black Eyed Peas
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Praise Of Ysolt

In vain have I striven,
to teach my heart to bow;
In vain have I said to him
'There be many singers greater than thou'.

But his answer cometh, as winds and as lutany,
As a vague crying upon the night
That leaveth me no rest, saying ever,
'Song, a song.'
Their echoes play upon each other in the twilight
Seeking ever a song.
Lo, I am worn with travail
And the wandering of many roads hath made my eyes
As dark red circles filled with dust.
Yet there is a trembling upon me in the twilight,
And little red elf words crying, ‘A song',
Little grey elf words crying for a song,
Little brown leaf words crying, ‘A song',
Little green leaf words crying for a song.
The words are as leaves, old brown leaves in the spring time
Blowing they know not whither, seeking a song.

White words as snow flakes but they are cold,
Moss words, lip words, words of slow streams.

In vain have I striven
to teach my soul to bow,
In vain have I pled with him:
'There be greater souls than thou.'

For in the morn of my years there came a woman
As moonlight calling,
As the moon calleth the tides,
'Song, a song.'

Wherefore I made her a song and she went from me
As the moon doth from the sea,
But still came the leaf words, little brown elf words
Stying 'The soul sendeth us'.
'A song, a song!'
And in vain I cried unto them ‘I have no song
For she I sang of hath gone from me'.

But my soul sent a woman, a woman of the wonder-folk,
A woman as fire upon the pine woods
crying 'Song, a song'.
As the flame crieth unto the sap.
My song was ablaze with her and she went from me
As flame leaveth the embers so went she unto new forests '
And the words were with me

[...] Read more

poem by Ezra Pound
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Death of Daphnis

THYRSIS.
Sweet are the whispers of yon pine that makes
Low music o'er the spring, and, Goatherd, sweet
Thy piping; second thou to Pan alone.
Is his the horned ram? then thine the goat.
Is his the goat? to thee shall fall the kid;
And toothsome is the flesh of unmilked kids.

GOATHERD.
Shepherd, thy lay is as the noise of streams
Falling and falling aye from yon tall crag.
If for their meed the Muses claim the ewe,
Be thine the stall-fed lamb; or if they choose
The lamb, take thou the scarce less-valued ewe.

THYRSIS.
Pray, by the Nymphs, pray, Goatherd, seat thee here
Against this hill-slope in the tamarisk shade,
And pipe me somewhat, while I guard thy goats.

GOATHERD.
I durst not, Shepherd, O I durst not pipe
At noontide; fearing Pan, who at that hour
Rests from the toils of hunting. Harsh is he;
Wrath at his nostrils aye sits sentinel.
But, Thyrsis, thou canst sing of Daphnis' woes;
High is thy name for woodland minstrelsy:
Then rest we in the shadow of the elm
Fronting Priapus and the Fountain-nymphs.
There, where the oaks are and the Shepherd's seat,
Sing as thou sang'st erewhile, when matched with him
Of Libya, Chromis; and I'll give thee, first,
To milk, ay thrice, a goat-she suckles twins,
Yet ne'ertheless can fill two milkpails full;-
Next, a deep drinking-cup, with sweet wax scoured,
Two-handled, newly-carven, smacking yet
0' the chisel. Ivy reaches up and climbs
About its lip, gilt here and there with sprays
Of woodbine, that enwreathed about it flaunts
Her saffron fruitage. Framed therein appears
A damsel ('tis a miracle of art)
In robe and snood: and suitors at her side
With locks fair-flowing, on her right and left,
Battle with words, that fail to reach her heart.
She, laughing, glances now on this, flings now
Her chance regards on that: they, all for love
Wearied and eye-swoln, find their labour lost.
Carven elsewhere an ancient fisher stands
On the rough rocks: thereto the old man with pains
Drags his great casting-net, as one that toils

[...] Read more

poem by Theocritus
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sing a Song of Sixth Sense Mad Off Course - Murder Goose Rhymes

SING A SONG OF SIXTH SENSE MAD OFF COURSE - MURDER GOOSE RHYMES

Sing sin's song of sixth sense, fink senators debating
unthinkingly of budget cuts, sink U.S. credit rating,
'n lies' between the 'lines' are seen with House and Senate fighting
while unemployed face winter cold, cold feet drag, Jack frost biting.

Four and twenty blackbirds from sky to pie swift falling,
men saw in Arkansas, elsewhere, bare facts scare were appalling,
upon the cusp Aquarian new age shows signs eroding
with governments across the globe progressively imploding.

Inflation's shadow grows apace, as tax cuts cut employment,
while talibans' attacks are answered - pullback redeployment,
nonsense world whirled as unfurled is future fate's implosion,
as blatant contradictions blow - soon G.O.P. explosion
will open evidence afford beyond the Kingdom Denmark
that something rotten's rolling stone - no candyfloss in ballpark -
no moss may gather as the world turns topsy-turvy spinning
with Gulliver in Lapata's Academy loss winning.

Multinational eggplants yoking humankind
led merry maypole goal dance prehensile non-aligned,
when humpty-dumpty causeway was crossed by bossy bears
namby-pamby Daddy Dow went stumbling down the stairs.

Harmonics multimodal, soap-opera crescendo,
unwinds dingbatty attitude advisers apprehendo,
though silly season willy-nilly spills baked beans on breadline
undertaking baking powder chowder readers red line.

Fuddy-duddy Fannie Mae haphazardly foreclosing
found Freddie Mac unsound and flat-on-back no sense proposing,
as oil recoiled blarney trefoil enchantingly unreachable
jabberwocky Chaney stabbed chained 'scooter', unimpeachable

Against the grainy libby_ration over understanding
a robbing hood good riddance pittance should be countermanding,
chainletters better expedite supercallifragile_realistic
witty ditty's pitiful room-service pugilistic.

From ice-age meltdown through freefall see mercury arising
Hyperion's coach-and-four from rail failsafe caved in surprising
Lehman's brother's leman's mother usually delightful
as shaving foam extinguished fame - 'twas positively frightful

Alaskan Palin failing fathoms five beneath Alaska
controversy no stranger danger daughter seemed - all ask her
for automobile autograph - she graphically contriteful

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Its Not A Song

Day turns to night, and I turn into bed.
Cant get to sleep; somethings in my head.
Pacing the floor, I try to force a rhyme.
Why do I fear this time?
Its not a song till it touches your heart.
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Now close your eyes; look into your hand.
What do you see?
Life is our song, to give and learn to take.
Time will not wait.
Oh, wont you please come dance,
While the songs still playing,
Wont be long till the silence falls.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.

song performed by Amy Grant
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Songs of Selma

ARGUMENTAddress to the evening star:

An apostrophe to Fingal and his times. Minonasings before the king the song of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other specimens of their poetical talents; according to an annual custom established by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians.

STAR of descending night! fair is thy light in the west! thou that liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud: thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings: the hum of their course is in the field. What dost thou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewell, thou silent beam! Let the light of Ossian's soul arise!

And it does arise in its strength! I behold my departed friends. Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watery column of mist! his heroes are around: and see the bards of song, gray-haired Ullin! Stately Ryno! Alpin with the tuneful voice! the soft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends, since the days of Selma's feast! when we contended, like gales of spring, as they fly along the hill, and bend by turns the feebly whistling grass.

Minona came forth in her beauty: with downcast look and tearful eye. Her hair flew slowly on the blast, that rushed unfrequent from the hill. The souls of the heroes were sad when she raised the tuneful voice. Often had they seen the grave of Salgar, the dark dwelling of white-bosomed Colma. Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of song! Salgar promised to come: but the night descended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when she sat alone on the hill.

Colma. It is night, I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard on the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds!

Rise, moon! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night, arise! Lead me, some light, to the place where my love rests from the chase alone! his bow near him, unstrung: his dogs panting around him. But here I must sit alone, by the rock of the mossy stream. The stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the hill, his promise? here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone? With thee, I would fly from my father; with thee, from my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes; we are not foes, O Salgar!

Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent awhile! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me! Salgar! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and the rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why delayest thou thy coming? Lo! the calm moon comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are gray on the steep, I see him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him, with tidings of his near approach. Here I must sit alone!

Who lie on the heath beside me? Are they my love and my brother? Speak to me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me; I am alone! My soul is tormented with fears! Ah! they are dead! Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother! my brother! why hast thou slain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! hast thou slain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! what shalt I say in your praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands! he was terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, song of my love! They are silent; silent for ever! Cold, cold, are their breasts of clay! Oh! from the rock on the hill, from the top of the windy steep, speak, ye ghosts of the dead! speak, I will not be afraid! Whither are ye gone to rest? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale: no answer half-drowned in the storm!

I sit in my grief; I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My life flies away like a dream: why should I stay behind? Here shall I rest with my friends, by the stream of the sounding rock. When night comes on the hilt; when the loud winds arise; my ghost shall stand in the blast, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter shall hear from his booth. he shall fear but love my voice! For sweet shall my voice be for my friends: pleasant were her friends to Colma!

Such was thy song, Minona, softly-blushing daughter of Torman. Our tears descended for Colma, and our souls were sad! Ullin came with his harp! he gave the song of Alpin. The voice of Alpin was pleasant: the soul of Ryno was a beam of fire! But they had rested in the narrow house: their voice had ceased in Selma. Ullin had returned, one day, from the chase, before the heroes fell. He heard their strife on the hilt; their song was soft but sad! They mourned the fall of Morar, first of mortal men! His soul was like the soul of Fingal: his sword like the sword of Oscar. But he fell, and his father mourned: his sister's eyes were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears, the sister of car-borne Morar. She retired from the song of Ullin, like the moon in the west, when she foresees the shower, and hides her fair head in a cloud. I touched the harp with Ullin; the song of mourning rose!

Ryno. The wind and the rain are past; calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconstant sun. Red through the stony vale comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O stream! but more sweet is the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the son of song, mourning for the dead! Bent is his head of age; red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou son of song, why alone on the silent hill? why complainest thou, as a blast in the wood; as a wave on the lonely shore?

Alpin. My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead; my voice for those that have passed away. Tall thou art on the hill; fair among the sons of the vale. But thou shalt fall like Morar; the mourner shall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more; thy bow shall in thy hall unstrung.

Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a roe on the desert; terrible as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm. Thy sword in battle, as lightning in the field. Thy voice was a stream after rain; like thunder on distant hills. Many fell by thy arm; they were consumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didst return from war, how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face was like the sun after rain; like the moon in the silence of night; calm as the breast of the lake when the loud wind is laid.

Narrow is thy dwelling now! Dark the place of thine abode! With three steps I compass thy grave. O thou who wast so great before! Four stones, with their heads of moss, are the only memorial of thee. A tree with scarce a leaf, long grass, which whistles in the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.

Who on his staff is this? who is this whose head is white with age; whose eyes are red with tears? who quakes at every step? It is thy father, O Morar! the father of no son but thee. He heard of thy fame in war; he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's renown; why did he not hear of his wound? Weep, thou father of Morar! weep; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead; low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice; no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake Farewell, thou bravest of men! thou conqueror in the field! but the field shall see thee no more; nor the dark wood be lightened with the splendor of thy steel. Thou hast left no son. The song shall preserve thy name. Future times shall hear of thee; they shall hear of the fallen Morar.

The grief of all arose, but most the bursting sigh of Armin. He remembers the death of his son, who fell in the days of his youth. Carmor was near the hero, the chief of the echoing Galmal. Why burst the sigh of Armin? he said. Is there a cause to mourn? The song comes, with its music, to melt and please the soul. It is like soft mist, that, rising from a lake, pours on the silent vale; the green flowers are filled with dew, but the sun returns in his strength, and the mist is gone. Why art thou sad, O Armin, chief of sea-surrounded Gorma?

Sad I am! nor small is my cause of wo. Carmor, thou hast lost no son; thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiant lives; and Annira, fairest maid. The boughs of thy house ascend, O Carmor! but Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura! deep thy sleep in the tomb! When shalt thou awake with thy songs? with all thy voice of music?

Arise, winds of autumn, arise; blow along the heath! streams of the mountains, roar! roar, tempests, in the groves of my oaks! walk through broken clouds, O moon! show thy pale face, at intervals! bring to my mind the night, when all my children fell; when Arindal the mighty fell! when Daura the lovely failed! Daura, my daughter! thou wert fair; fair as the moon on Fura , white as the driven snow; sweet as the breathing gale. Arindal, thy bow was strong. Thy spear was swift on the field. Thy look was like mist on the wave: thy shield, a red cloud in a storm. Armar, renowned in war, came, and sought Daura's love. He was not long refused: fair was the hope of their friends!

Erath, son of Odgal, repined: his brother had been slain by Armar. He came disguised like a son of the sea: fair was his skiff on the wave; white his locks of age; calm his serious brow. Fairest of women, he said, lovely daughter of Armin! a rock not distant in the sea bears a tree on its side: red shines the fruit afar! There Armar waits for Daura. I come to carry his love! She went; she called on Armar. Nought answered, but the son of the rock. Armar, my love! my love! why tormentest thou me with fear! hear, son of Arnart, hear: it is Daura who calleth thee! Erath the traitor fled laughing to the land. She lifted up her voice; she called for her brother and for her father. Arindal! Armin! none to relieve your Daura!

Her voice came over the sea. Arindal my son descended from the hill; rough in the spoils of the chase. His arrows rattled by his side; his bow was in his hand; five dark-gray dogs attended his steps. He saw fierce Erath on the shore: he seized and bound him to an oak. Thick wind the thongs of the hide around his limbs: he loads the winds with his groans . Arindal ascends the deep in his boat, to bring Daura to land. Armar came in his wrath, and let fly the gray-feathered shaft. It sunk, it sunk in thy heart, O Arindal, my son! for Erath the traitor thou diest. The oar is stopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired. What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood! The boat is broke in twain. Armar plunges into the sea, to rescue his Daura, or die. Sudden a blast from a hill came over the waves. He sunk, and he rose no more.

Alone on the sea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Frequent and loud were her cries. What could her father do? All night I stood on the shore. I saw her by the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; the rain beat hard on the hill. Before morning appeared her voice was weak. it died away, like the evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with grief, she expired; and left thee, Armin, alone. Gone is my strength in war! fallen my pride among women! When the storms aloft arise; when the north lifts the wave on high! I sit by the sounding shore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the setting moon, I see the ghosts of my children. Half viewless, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you speak in pity. They do not regard their father. I am sad, O Carmor, nor small is my cause of wo.

Such were the words of the bards in the days of song: when the king heard the music of harps, the tales of other times! The chiefs gathered from all their hills, and heard the lovely sound. They praised the voice of Cona; the first among a thousand bards! But age is now on my tongue; my soul has failed: I hear, at times, the ghosts of bards, and learn their pleasant Song. But memory fails on my mind. I hear the call of years; they say, as they pass along, Why does Ossian sing? Soon shall he lie in the narrow house, and no bard shall raise his fame! Roll on, ye dark-brown years; ye bring no joy on your course! Let the tomb open to Ossian, for his strength has failed. The sons of song are gone to rest. My voice remains, like a blast, that roars, lonely, on a sea-surrounded rock, after the winds are laid. The dark moss whistles there; the distant mariner sees the waving trees!

By "the son of the rock," the poet means the echoing back of the human voice from a rock.

Ossian is sometimes poetically called "the voice of Cona".

[...] Read more

poem by James Macpherson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Star 69

You dont have to take the bar exam to see
What you did is ignoramus 103
Where have I got to hang my hat
You dont have line to me
All this just to be your friend
I was there to tell you
Extortion and arson, petty larceny
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you hung up my line.
Star 69.
I know all about the warehouse fire.
I know squirrelies didnt chew the wire.
Three people have my number, the other two were with me.
I dont stand tall, but Im not your patsy.
This time you have gone too far with me.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you hung up my line.
Star 69.
Whyd you put your quarter down on me?
This reads like some dark inside edition, hard copy.
I cant be your character witness, I cant be your alibi.
Dont arrange the fbi, here this spy versus spy.
You my friend are guilty as can be.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I cant be your alibi.
Star 69.

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Football A Game.

What a name called?
Football a game called,
To known arena called stadium,
Played eleven to eleven side to side each,
Formations of it kinds,
Aims of a two goal post net,
Aims of a trophy,
Aims of winning,
In a color Jersey of its kinds,
In a color booths of it kinds,
Side to side balls picking sons round,
Spectators sat rounding pitch watching,
Centered with a nominated referee officiating,
Lined with a two lines men flagged,
Officials of substitutions in questions,
Pronounced by named commentators,
Red and yellow cards rules in question,
Supported keys of volunteers,
Supported with all sorts of supporters,
Declared a stadium manager jobs,
Declared a team manager jobs,
Host the nations, Host the world,
At moment of a country designated!
At moment of a country authorized!
Called for all practitioners....
Photographers, Cinematography, Press, Medias, Adverts, Sponsors, critics, etc. centred.

What a name called?
Football! football! ! football! ! !
A rounded leather circled!
Circled in its color of its choices,
Declared fifa authorities,
Declared statistical over all game,
Respect covered face to face,
Stretchers officials in uniforms of its officials medications,
Football a game called,
With boots of its kinds worn,
Saddled a whole lot supporters,
Saddled a whole lot analysts,
Presumption for a nation's glory,
Preemptive individuals' desirably for survival,
Football a game called,
Called to the passionate in spirit,
Football a game called,
Embrace understanding to unnamed,
Embrace love to unloved,
Embrace unity to diversities,
Embrace creativity to un-creativity,
Football a game called,
Adore a nature,

[...] Read more

poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

David

My thought, on views of admiration hung,
Intently ravish'd and depriv'd of tongue,
Now darts a while on earth, a while in air,
Here mov'd with praise and mov'd with glory there;
The joys entrancing and the mute surprize
Half fix the blood, and dim the moist'ning eyes;
Pleasure and praise on one another break,
And Exclamation longs at heart to speak;
When thus my Genius, on the work design'd
Awaiting closely, guides the wand'ring mind.

If while thy thanks wou'd in thy lays be wrought,
A bright astonishment involve the thought,
If yet thy temper wou'd attempt to sing,
Another's quill shall imp thy feebler wing;
Behold the name of royal David near,
Behold his musick and his measures here,
Whose harp Devotion in a rapture strung,
And left no state of pious souls unsung.

Him to the wond'ring world but newly shewn,
Celestial poetry pronounc'd her own;
A thousand hopes, on clouds adorn'd with rays,
Bent down their little beauteous forms to gaze;
Fair-blooming Innocence with tender years,
And native Sweetness for the ravish'd ears,
Prepar'd to smile within his early song,
And brought their rivers, groves, and plains along;
Majestick Honour at the palace bred,
Enrob'd in white, embroider'd o'er with red,
Reach'd forth the scepter of her royal state,
His forehead touch'd, and bid his lays be great;
Undaunted Courage deck'd with manly charms,
With waving-azure plumes, and gilded arms,
Displaid the glories, and the toils of fight,
Demanded fame, and call'd him forth to write.
To perfect these the sacred spirit came,
By mild infusion of celestial flame,
And mov'd with dove-like candour in his breast,
And breath'd his graces over all the rest.
Ah! where the daring flights of men aspire
To match his numbers with an equal fire;
In vain they strive to make proud Babel rise,
And with an earth-born labour touch the skies.
While I the glitt'ring page resolve to view,
That will the subject of my lines renew;
The Laurel wreath, my fames imagin'd shade,
Around my beating temples fears to fade;
My fainting fancy trembles on the brink,
And David's God must help or else I sink.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Parnell
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

President Lincoln's Burial Hymn

When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd

WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloom'd,
And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,
I mourn'd--and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.

O powerful, western, fallen star!
O shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear'd! O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me! 10
O harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul!

In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash'd
palings,
Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich
green,
With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume
strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle......and from this bush in the door-yard,
With delicate-color'd blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich
green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break.

In the swamp, in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary, the thrush, 20
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.

Song of the bleeding throat!
Death's outlet song of life--(for well, dear brother, I know
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would'st surely die.)

Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes, and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep'd
from the ground, spotting the gray debris;)
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes--passing the
endless grass;
Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the
dark-brown fields uprising;

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

That Same Song

Well back in time with just a rhythm and rhyme
Gregorian chants were a real big thing
They took that chant and added harmony
It was a different sound
But had the same meaning
I know (I know) I know (I know)
It took us a long while
To go (to go) to go (to go)
And find us a rock style
I know (I know) I know (I know)
That we can take it one more mile
Because
Were singing that same song
Were still singing that same song
Were singing that same song
That same song
That same song
The rock of ages
Built that rockin sound
til more and more people start to come around
They worshipped in church
And built that great big choir
It grew and it grew
Until it spread like fire
I know (I know) I know (I know)
It took us a long while
To go (to go) to go (to go)
And find us a rock style
I know (I know) I know (I know)
That we can take it one more mile
Because
Were singing that same song
Were still singing that same song
Were singing that same song
That same song
That same song
Same song
Oh yeah
Same song
Oh yeah
Same song that same song
Same song
Oh yeah
Same song
Oh yeah
Same song that same song

song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Six Words Long

This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
Couldn't think of any lyrics
No i never wrote the lyrics
So i'll just sing any old lyrics
That come to mind, child
You really need words
Whole lotta rhyming words
You gotta rhyme so many words, mm-mm
To do it, to do it, to do it, to do it
To do it, to do it right, child
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
I know that you're probably sore
'cause i didn't write any more
I just didn't get to complete it
So that's why i gotta repeat it
This song is just six words long (six words long)
This song is just six words long (six words long)
Oh i make a lotta money
They pay me a ton of money
They're payin' me plenty of money
To sing this song, child
I gotta fill time
Three minutes worth of time
Oh, how will i fill so much time, mm-mm
I'll throw in a solo, a solo, a solo
A solo, a solo here
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
This song is just six words long
This song's got nothin' to say
But i'm recording it anyway
I know if i put my mind to it
I know i could find a good rhyme here
Oh, you gotta have-a music
You need really catchy music
This song has got plenty of music
But just six words, child
And so i'll sing' em over
And over and over and over
And over and over and over, mm-mm
And over and over and over
And over and over and over again
Six words long, six words long

[...] Read more

song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Wine, Women An Song

(coverdale/lord/marsden/moody/murray/paice)
I aint an educated man
As all you fleet street preachers know,
Its just the simple things in life
Get my motor running, ready to go
If I can make you smile
I will raise my glass,
An if you dont like it
Then, baby, you can kiss my ass!
You can tell me its wrong,
But, I love wine, women an song
Give me a good time woman,
An a love potion bottle of booze
cos I got a juke box heart
Full of honky tonk rhythm an blues
You better lock up your daughter, your sister too,
If get in my way, Im gonna rock an roll over you,
Aint nothing you can do
You can tell its wrong,
But I love wine, women an song
Wine, women an song, talking bout
Wine, women an song,
Wine, women an song,
Wine, women an song
You get what you can
But, dont take too long
Wine, women an song,
Give me a rock an roll band
With a mean an dirty blues guitar,
Take me to a dance hall palace
With a twenty four hour bar
Then you better lock up your daughter, your sister too,
If you get in my way, Im gonna rock an roll over you,
Aint nothing you can do
You can tell me its wrong,
But I love wine, women an song
Wine, women an song, talking bout
Wine, women an song,
Wine, women an song,
Wine, women an song
You get what you can
But, dont take too long,
Wine, women an song
Wine, women an song,
Wine, women an song,
Wine, women an song
You get what you can
But, dont take too long,
Wine, women an song
Wine, women an song

song performed by Whitesnake
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!