Israphel
A dreamer midst the stars doth dwell,
Known to the gods as Israphel.
His heart-strings are a lute;
And when, the magic notes outpouring,
He parts his lips, the gods, adoring,
Listen in transport mute,
Subdued and softened by the spell
Of the dreamer, Israphel!
And mortals, when they hear him, start,
And, full of wonder, call him—Art,
And, fain his gift to gain,
Essay to imitate the fashion
Of his rare song, and breathe its passion,—
But, ah, they strive in vain;
For his song is more than art,
Whose lute-strings are his heart!
And others, unto whom he wings
The sweetest melodies he sings,
In worship, name him—Love;
Yet longing the pure strain to capture,
When at the very height of rapture,
A sadness oft approve,
And fancy, strangely, that he wrings
The music from their own heart-strings!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Corinna
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear
As any challenged echo clear.
But when she doth of mourning speak,
Even with her sighs the strings do break.
And as her lute doth live or die;
Led by her passion, so must I.
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring;
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
Even from my heart the strings do break.
poem by Thomas Campion
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When to her Lute Corinna Sings
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear,
As any challenged echo clear;
But when she doth of mourning speak,
E'en with her sighs, the strings do break,
And as her lute doth live or die,
Led by her passion, so must I:
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring,
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
E'en from my heart the strings do break
poem by Thomas Campion
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Israfel
In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.
And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings-
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.
But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty-
Where Love's a grown-up God-
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.
Therefore thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!
The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit-
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervor of thy lute-
Well may the stars be mute!
Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely- flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.
If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
poem by Edgar Allan Poe
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Waiting In The Wings
(andy hill/pete sinfield)
I need you like freedom
I feel you like rain
I see you like silver rails across an endless plain
And I know there are moments
You feel as I do
Thats why Im waiting for you
This time around I wont push for an answer
Both of us need to be sure
To be strong
When the moment comes
Ill be your dancer
Ill be your singer
And your song
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
Waiting in the wings
A natural dreamer
A maverick soul
How close can I be to you
And still not lose control?
And as close as the ocean
As near as the sky
As near as the tears I dont cry
Maybe a fool has been drowned in a vision
Hung up to dry in the teeth of the wind
Believing in the truth of your decisions
Thats all there is until the end
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting. Ill be waiting
Waiting in the wings
Ill be waiting
Ill be waiting
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
When your heart is weary
When you want a love with no strings
I will be here waiting
Waiting in the wings
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rosary
Not on the lute, nor harp of many strings
Shall all men praise the Master of all song.
Our life is brief, one saith, and art is long;
And skilled must be the laureates of kings.
Silent, O lips that utter foolish things!
Rest, awkward fingers striking all notes wrong!
How from your toil shall issue, white and strong,
Music like that God's chosen poet sings?
There is one harp that any hand can play,
And from its strings what harmonies arise!
There is one song that any mouth can say, --
A song that lingers when all singing dies.
When on their beads our Mother's children pray
Immortal music charms the grateful skies.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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An Anarchist
False to his art and to the high command
God laid upon him, Markham's rebel hand
Beats all in vain the harp he touched before:
It yields a jingle and it yields no more.
No more the strings beneath his finger-tips
Sing harmonies divine. No more his lips,
Touched with a living coal from sacred fires,
Lead the sweet chorus of the golden wires.
The voice is raucous and the phrases squeak;
They labor, they complain, they sweat, they reek!
The more the wayward, disobedient song
Errs from the right to celebrate the wrong,
More diligently still the singer strums,
To drown the horrid sound, with all his thumbs.
Gods, what a spectacle! The angels lean
Out of high Heaven to view the sorry scene,
And Israfel, 'whose heart-strings are a lute,'
Though now compassion makes their music mute,
Among the weeping company appears,
Pearls in his eyes and cotton in his ears.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Music of the Stars
(to Johnny Alegre)
I heard you first as I walked by
Abelardo Hall
The faint strains of a lead guitar
I just could not ignore
Quietly I entered
the large dim-lit hall
Soon I sat there feeling
What I've never felt before
It was the sound of longing
through the strings of your guitar
A man surrendering his heart
A traveller soul-searching
reaching for the stars
A prayer from the heart
You didn't know me back then
But I can tell you now
The music that possessed you
Took me in its power
For on that day a wayward flame
Touched my very soul
And to this day it haunts me still
A song from long ago
It was the sound of longing
though the strings of your guitar
That echoed the longing in my heart
I know I won't forget
That mystical guitar
That song of timeless distant stars
poem by Sonya Florentino
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Invisible Strings
(ian hunter)
One, two, three
Well I woke up this morning - theres a girl in my bed.
How did she get there? was it something I said?
I dont understand it but somehow it seems
She visits me in invisible dreams.
Over and over I try to explain
How did that girl get into my veins?
Did somebody send her - was it my velvet wings?
And how does she touch my invisible strings?
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Ill still be playing my invisible strings
Well maybe she dont have a world of her own
Maybe shes using me just like a phone
And sometimes shes cool and sometimes she stings
And Im all tangled up in invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing those invisible strings
Well she never leaves - Im never alone
I aint in the book but shes still calling home
I tried to lose her - watch the tv
But that womans always picking on me
Well, theres strings round my body, strings round my heart
Id like to know where the string-pulling starts
Id give anything to meet the angel who sends
Invisible ink to my invisible pen
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
Oh yeah
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zing Went The Strings Of My Heart
Dear, when you smile at me
I hear a melody
It haunted me from the start
Something inside of me
Started a symphony
Zing went the strings of my heart
Whoa now the breath of spring
Whoa i heard a robin sing
About a nest... apart
All that you seem to be
End up in harmony
Zing went the strings of my heart
I still recall the thrill
I guess i always will
I hope we'll never depart
Dear, with your lips to mine
A rhapsody divine
Zing went the strings of my heart
Zing went the strings of my heart
Zing zing zing zing
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harbour (feat. Sinad O'Connor)
the street bears no relief
when everybody's fighting
the street bears no relief
with light so hot and binding
i run the stairs away
and walk into the nighttime
the sadness flows like water
and washes down the heartache
and washes down the heartache
my heart is full
my heart is wide
the saddest song to play
on the strings of my heart
the heat is on its own
the roof seems so inviting
a vantage point is gained
to watch the children fighting
so lead me to the harbour
and float me on the waves
sink me in the ocean
to sleep in a sailor's grave
to sleep in a sailor's grave
my heart is full
my heart is wide
the saddest song to play
on the strings of my heart
my heart is full
my heart is wide, so wide
the saddest song to play
on the strings of my heart
song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Easter
Rise, heart, thy lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delays,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him may'st rise:
That, as his death calcinèd thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and, much more, just.
Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art,
The cross taught all wood to resound his name
Who bore the same.
His stretchèd sinews taught all strings what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.
Consort, both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long;
Or, since all music is but three parts vied
And multiplied
Oh let thy blessèd Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.
poem by George Herbert
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Horace To His Lute
If ever in the sylvan shade
A song immortal we have made,
Come now, O lute, I pri' thee come--
Inspire a song of Latium.
A Lesbian first thy glories proved--
In arms and in repose he loved
To sweep thy dulcet strings and raise
His voice in Love's and Liber's praise;
The Muses, too, and him who clings
To Mother Venus' apron-strings,
And Lycus beautiful, he sung
In those old days when you were young.
O shell, that art the ornament
Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content
To Jove, and soothing troubles all--
Come and requite me, when I call!
poem by Eugene Field
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To His Lute
If ever in the sylvan shade
A song immortal we have made,
Come now, O lute, I prithee come,
Inspire a song of Latium!
A Lesbian first thy glories proved;
In arms and in repose he loved
To sweep thy dulcet strings, and raise
His voice in Love's and Liber's praise.
The Muses, too, and him who clings
To Mother Venus' apron-strings,
And Lycus beautiful, he sung
In those old days when you were young.
O shell, that art the ornament
Of Phoebus, bringing sweet content
To Jove, and soothing troubles all,--
Come and requite me, when I call!
poem by Eugene Field
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My Music Is My Life
MUSIC IS MY LIFE
I am just sitting here,
Making love to my guitar
Strumming out music,
My love doesn’t stray too far.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Hugs and kisses come easy,
From the strings that I caress.
There is nothing more pretty,
Than my guitar in full dress.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
I am carried into ecstasy
With each note that floats out
Feel the music within me,
It’s busting its way out.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Play the music with me,
Sing and raise your voice.
You will feel the love of Music,
Your heart will have no choice.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I’m singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Life cannot deny me love,
Or the music that’s inside me
The melodies are my heart and soul,
And it will always be my decree.
REB (FEB 2012) Dedicated to Twig Sullivan, because music is her life
poem by Rik Bertrand
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Music Is My Life
I am just sitting here,
Making love to my guitar
Strumming out music,
My love doesn't stray too far.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Hugs and kisses come easy,
From the strings that I caress.
There is nothing more pretty,
Than my guitar in full dress.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
I am carried into ecstasy
With each note that floats out
Feel the music within me,
It's busting its way out.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Play the music with me,
Sing and raise your voice.
You will feel the love of Music,
Your heart will have no choice.
My music is my life,
And my love is a heart filled song.
As long as I'm singing,
I know there can be no wrong.
Life cannot deny me love,
Or the music that's inside me
The melodies are my heart and soul,
And it will always be my decree.
REB (FEB 2012) Dedicated to Twig Sullivan, because music is her life
poem by Rik Bertrand
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To The Serenader
Tinkle on, O sweet guitar,
Let the dancing fingers
Loiter where the low notes are
Blended with the singer's:
Let the midnight pour the moon's
Mellow wine of glory
Down upon him through the tune's
Old romantic story!
I am listening, my love,
Through the cautious lattice,
Wondering why the stars above
All are blinking at us;
Wondering if his eyes from there
Catch the moonbeam's shimmer
As it lights the robe I wear
With a ghostly glimmer.
Lilt thy song, and lute away
In the wildest fashion:--
Pour thy rippling roundelay
O'er the heights of passion!--
Flash it down the fretted strings
Till thy mad lips, missing
All but smothered whisperings,
Press this rose I'm kissing.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Harbour
ft. Sinead O'Connor
the street bears no relief
when everybody's fighting
the street bears no relief
with light so hot and binding
I run the stairs away
and walk into the nighttime
the sadness flows like water
and washes down the heartache
and washes down the heartache
my heart is full
my heart is wide
the saddest song to play
on the strings of my heart
the heat is on its own
the roof seems so inviting
a vantage point is gained
to watch the children fighting
so lead me to the harbour
and float me on the waves
sink me in the ocean
to sleep in a sailor's grave
to sleep in a sailor's grave
my heart is full
my heart is wide
the saddest song to play
on the strings of my heart
my heart is full
my heart is wide
song performed by by Moby from Play
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strumming The Strings Of My Heart
I watch you play,
Making a beautiful tune
The strings of the guitar shaking
As you sit in the light of the moon
Your plucking the strings
With great ease
Making a flowing melody
A pretty song, just for me
I continue to watch
You playing your guitar
Making me love you
While your strumming the strings of my heart
These strings will never be touched
By anyone but you
You go where no one else can
Leaving a mark, like a tattoo,
Saying I LOVE YOU
poem by Katniss Everdeen
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The Chain I Gave: From The Turkish
The chain I gave was fair to view,
The lute I added sweet in sound;
The heart that offer'd both was true,
And ill deserved the fate it found.
These gifts were charm'd by secret spell,
Thy truth in absence to divine;
And they have done their duty well,
Alas! they could not teach the thine.
That chain was firm in every link,
But not to bear a stranger's touch;
That lute was sweet, till thou could'st think
In other hands its notes were such.
Let him who from thy neck unbound
The chain which shiver'd in his grasp,
Who saw that lute refuse to sound,
Restring the chords, renew the clasp.
When thou wert changed, they alter'd too;
The chain is broke, the music mute.
'Tis past, to them and thee adieu
False heart, frail chain, and silent lute.
The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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