My first recollection is that of a bugle call.
quote by Douglas MacArthur
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We do not learn; and what we call learning is only a process of recollection.
A poem is learned by heart and then not again repeated. We will suppose that after a half year it has been forgotten: no effort of recollection is able to call it back again into consciousness.
quote by Hermann Ebbinghaus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Past
Oh! how sad the recollection! in the midst of joy it
springs;
What a train of faded pleasures that fond idea brings!
All those hours are gone for ever—they were sweet, but
pass'd away
Like the sunny clouds that vanish in the midst of dying
day.
I have number'd all the sorrows this tortured heart has
known;
I have counted each delight I would ever call my own;
But the moments are so woven, that the guiding clew is
gone,
And the sorrow and the pleasure blended into one.
That one—oh! when we parted, it was glittering in that
tear;
That one—'twas in the accents that told we both were
dear:
It dwelt in those fond glances, too fleet, too early past;
It lived in that embrace—the tenderest—the last!
The last! oh, in that word there are ages of despair!
No summer thought of brightness can dwell untroubled
there;
Yet my soul was in that moment so fraught with joy and
pain,
And ' tis only recollection can give back the soul again!
poem by Louisa Stuart Costello
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Blow Your Bugle, Soldier Man
Blow your bugle, soldier man
For our young heroes
In their flag covered boxes
In the few years they lived
We taught them
How to die for
Love of country
They are home now
Blow your bugle, soldier man
Blow Taps
It’s lights out
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Blow, Bugle, Blow
THE splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Splendor Falls
The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes dying, dying, dying.
O love they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field, or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow forever and forever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Ford O' Kabul River
Kabul town's by Kabul river --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
There I lef' my mate for ever,
Wet an' drippin' by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
There's the river up and brimmin', an' there's 'arf a squadron swimmin'
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town's a blasted place --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
'Strewth I sha'n't forget 'is face
Wet an' drippin' by the ford!
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
Keep the crossing-stakes beside you, an' they will surely guide you
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town is sun and dust --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
I'd ha' sooner drownded fust
'Stead of 'im beside the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
You can 'ear the 'orses threshin', you can 'ear the men a-splashin',
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Kabul town was ours to take --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
I'd ha' left it for 'is sake --
'Im that left me by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
It's none so bloomin' dry there; ain't you never comin' nigh there,
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark?
Kabul town'll go to hell --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
'Fore I see him 'live an' well --
'Im the best beside the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
Gawd 'elp 'em if they blunder, for their boots'll pull 'em under,
By the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
Turn your 'orse from Kabul town --
Blow the bugle, draw the sword --
'Im an' 'arf my troop is down,
Down an' drownded by the ford.
Ford, ford, ford o' Kabul river,
Ford o' Kabul river in the dark!
There's the river low an' fallin', but it ain't no use o' callin'
'Cross the ford o' Kabul river in the dark.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Awaiting my next posting
I hear a distant bugle calling
bravely as the twilights falling
The plaintive notes of the last post,
when I’m alone affect me most.
As I remember those who fell
in defence of liberty.
Where they lie now no man can
but I remember vividly
Lofty, only five foot two
and his best mate big Geordie Green.
Taff Thomas and Dai Williams too.
I wonder what they might have been
Had death not claimed them one and all
selected them quite randomly.
Each time I hear that bugle call
a sense of guilt falls over me.
Why was I chosen to survive
to wed and raise a family.
When they gave all they had to give
each death a separate tragedy.
But I live on. I know not why
death chose my friends, left me behind.
The only thing I know is I
Must keep their memories in mind.
The plaintive notes the bugler plays
that drift across the fields to me
Will mark too, the end of my days
when I rejoin their company.
7-Feb-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Inspiration
O recollection of the heart! You're stronger
Than reason's cheerless recollection.
Your sweetness oft
Enchants me in a far-off land.
I recollect her voice, her precious words,
I recollect her azure eyes,
I recollect the golden locks
Of loose and curling hair.
My peerless shepherdess's
Simple clothes I recollect.
Her precious, unforgotten face
Still wanders with me everywhere.
This guardian spirit love bestowed
To comfort me in solitude:
When'er I slumber, it will nestle near
To sweeten cheerless sleep.
poem by Konstantin Nikolaevich Batiushkov
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I Call You Friend
I call You kindness
I call You gentleness
I call You Truth.
I call You beauty
I call You wisdom
I call You Beloved.
I call You light
I call You trust
I call You father, mother,
daughter, son
I love You because I must
I call You Friend.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Sound The Bugle
Sound the bugle now - play it just for me
As the seasons change - remember how I used to be
Now I can't go on - I can't even start
I've got nothing left - just an empty heart
I'm a soldier - wounded so I must give up the fight
There's nothing more for me - lead me away...
Or leave me lying here
Sound the bugle now - tell them I don't care
There 's not a road I know - that leads t anywhere
Without a light I fear that I will - stumble in the dark
Lay right down - decide not t go on
Then from on high - somewhere in the distance
There's a voice that calls - remember who you are
If you lose yourself - your courage soon will follow
So be strong tonight - remember who you are
Ya you're a soldier now - fighting in a battle
To be free once more...
Ya that's worth fighting for
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind In The Wire
I've been riding fence all day,
Way up on the summer range.
Found a place to make my bed
As the evening shadows spread
Beyond the campfire light,
In the stillness of night,
Came the call of a coyote choir,
And the song
Of the wind in the wire.
As it strummed the rusted strings,
It sang of long-forgotten things.
Many moons and many suns
Of the real Americans.
When the arrow and the bow
Stalked the range
Of the buffalo,
And the call of the coyote choir
Knew no song
Of the wind in the wire.
As the ghostly balladeer
Hypnotized me, I could hear
Bugle calls, and battle cries.
Broken promises and lies.
The spirits of the plain
Still sing their sad refrain
In the call of the coyote choir
And the song
Of the wind in the wire.
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Last Post
The bugler sent a call of high romance—
“Lights out! Lights out!” to the deserted square.
On the thin brazen notes he threw a prayer,
“God, if it’s this for me next time in France…
O spare the phantom bugle as I lie
Dead in the gas and smoke and roar of guns,
Dead in a row with the other broken ones
Lying so stiff and still under the sky,
Jolly young Fusiliers too good to die.”
poem by Robert Graves
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No Call U
Girl, I'm goin' crazy, I'm lonely and I need your kiss
My body wants 2 call U but my ego says I got 2 resist
Come and stop it if U want 2 but I ain't playin' second 2 none
U got 2 put your arms around me and tell me I'm the only 1
No call U, U call me (Ooh wee)
If love is true, I will see
Come on, mama
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I will see
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I will see
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I... I... I will see
Yeah! (No call U)
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I will see
No call U, U call me
If love is true, I...
Alright
Yeah
No call U, U call me
Mama, I know U want 2
But I won't call U, U will have 2 call me
Ooh wee, yeah
U... U call me
I called U in the summer
Whenever I'd call your ass up on the phone (No call U, U call me)
Yeah
Yeah, ooh
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Write in recollection and amazement for yourself.
quote by Jack Kerouac
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I have always been honest about my recollection of events.
quote by David Blunkett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Drummer Boy
A drummer boy dressed in white tapped his drum as he passed by my bed,
he never looked at me, and not a word was said.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, was his marching beat.
There was blood from a wound, but he kept to his feet.
As he marched back and forth it looked as though he was going to fall,
but he continued to beat his drum, as he walked through the wall.
On his departure the sound of a bugle was heard above the drum,
whistling rifle shots and cannon fire added to the battle’s hum.
A boy dressed in red and white, blowing a bugle marched passed my bed,
he had suffered a wound, and blood was flowing from his head.
Blowing with all his might I could see the determination on his face,
he seemed to be running out of breath, as he slowly lost the pace.
The drummer boy came up beside him and marched by his side,
the bugle boy stood up straight, and blew the charge as he cried.
Another drummer boy passed my bed followed by two more,
the bugle boy stood and looked ahead, and then fell to the floor.
Several soldiers charged pass, with bayonets fixed for attack,
passing the drummer boy one yelled, “Keep playing and don’t look back.”
With the sound of bullets in the air and shells exploding all around
soldiers charged and fell by my bed to the now distant drumming sound.
It suddenly all went quiet as everyone disappeared through the wall,
except for the drummer boy who played as he stood tall.
Tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum, tippy tap drum; a much softer beat,
he then looked at me with tears in his eyes, as he faded at my feet.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Recollection is the only paradise from which we cannot be turned out.
quote by Jean Paul Richter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My main recollection is of the work I had to do in order to eat.
quote by Clifton Fadiman
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Recollection is not something that I can summon up, it simply comes and I am the servant of it.
quote by Edna O'Brien
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