Ye Wearie Wayfarer
Hark! the bells of distant cattle
Waft across the range,
Through the golden-tufted wattle
Music low and strange;
Like the marriage of peal fairies
Comes the tinkling sound,
Or like chimes of sweet St Mary's
On far English ground.
How my courser champs the snaffle,
And with nostrils spread,
Snorts and scarcely seems to ruffle
Fern leaves with his tread;
Cool and pleasant on his haunches
Blows the evening breeze,
Through the overhanging branches
Of the wattle trees;
Onward! to the Southern Ocean
Glides the breath of Spring.
Onward! with a dreamy motion,
I, too, glide and sing
Forward! forward! still we wander
Tinted hills that lie
In the red horizon yonder
Is the goal so nigh?
Whisper, spring wind, softly singing,
Whisper in my ear;
Respite and nepenthe bringing,
Can the goal be near?
Laden with the dew of vespers,
From the fragrant sky,
In my ear the wind that wispers
Seems to make reply
'Question not, but live and labour
'Til yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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Related quotes
Finis Exoptatus
Boot and saddle, see, the slanting
Rays begin to fall,
Flinging lights and colours flaunting
Through the shadows tall.
Onward ! onward ! must we travel ?
When will come the goal ?
Riddle I may not unravel,
Cease to vex my soul.
Harshly break those peals of laughter
From the jays aloft,
Can we guess what they cry after ?
We have heard them oft ;
Perhaps some strain of rude thanksgiving
Mingles in their song,
Are they glad that they are living ?
Are they right or wrong ?
Right, 'tis joy that makes them call so,
Why should they be sad ?
Certes ! we are living also,
Shall not we be glad ?
Onward ! onward ! must we travel ?
Is the goal more near ?
Riddle we may not unravel,
Why so dark and drear ?
Yon small bird his hymn outpouring,
On the branch close by,
Recks not for the kestrel soaring
In the nether sky,
Though the hawk with wings extended
Poises over head,
Motionless as though suspended
By a viewless thread.
See, he stoops, nay, shooting forward
With the arrow's flight,
Swift and straight away to nor'ward
Sails he out of sight.
Onward ! onward ! thus we travel,
Comes the goal more nigh ?
Riddle we may not unravel,
Who shall make reply ?
Ha ! Friend Ephraim, saint or sinner,
Tell me if you can—
Tho' we may not judge the inner
By the outer man,
Yet by girth of broadcloth ample,
And by cheeks that shine,
Surely you set no example
In the fasting line—
Could you, like yon bird, discov'ring,
Fate as close at hand,
As the kestrel o'er him hov'ring,
Still, as he did, stand ?
Trusting grandly, singing gaily,
Confident and calm,
Not one false note in your daily
Hymn or weekly psalm ?
Oft your oily tones are heard in
Chapel, where you preach,
This the everlasting burden
Of the tale you teach :
We are d———d, our sins are deadly,
You alone are heal'd—
'Twas not thus their gospel redly
Saints and martyrs seal'd.
You had seem'd more like a martyr,
Than you seem to us,
To the beasts that caught a Tartar,
Once at Ephesus !
Rather than the stout apostle
Of the Gentiles, who,
Pagan-like, could cuff and wrestle,
They'd have chosen you.
Yet, I ween, on such occasion,
Your dissenting voice
Would have been, in mild persuasion,
Raised against their choice ;
Man of peace, and man of merit,
Pompous, wise, and grave,
Ephraim ! is it flesh or spirit
You strive most to save ?
Vain is half this care and caution
O'er the earthly shell,
We can neither baffle nor shun
Dark-plumed Azrael.
Onward ! onward ! still we wander,
Nearer draws the goal ;
Half the riddle's read, we ponder
Vainly on the whole.
Eastward ! in the pink horizon,
Fleecy hillocks shame
This dim range dull earth that lies on,
Tinged with rosy flame.
Westward ! as a stricken giant
Stoops his bloody crest,
And tho' vanquished, frowns defiant,
Sinks the sun to rest.
Distant, yet approaching quickly,
From the shades that lurk,
Like a black pall gathers thickly,
Night, when none may work.
Soon our restless occupation
Shall have ceas'd to be ;
Units ! in God's vast creation,
Ciphers ! what are we ?
Onward ! onward ! oh ! faint-hearted ;
Nearer and more near
Has the goal drawn since we started,
Be of better cheer.
Preacher ! all forbearance ask, for
All are worthless found,
Man must ay take man to task for
Faults while earth goes round.
On this dank soil thistles muster,
Thorns are broadcast sown ;
Seek not figs where thistles cluster,
Grapes where thorns have grown.
Sun and rain and dew from heaven,
Light and shade and air,
Heat and moisture freely given,
Thorns and thistles share.
Vegetation rank and rotten
Feels the cheering ray ;
Not uncared for, unforgotten,
We, too, have our day.
Unforgotten ! though we cumber
Earth, we work His will.
Shall we sleep through night's long slumber
Unforgotten still ?
Onward ! onward ! toiling ever,
Weary steps and slow,
Doubting oft, despairing never,
To the goal we go !
Hark ! the bells on distant cattle
Waft across the range,
Through the golden-tufted wattle,
Music low and strange ;
Like the marriage peal of fairies
Comes the tinkling sound,
Or like chimes of sweet St. Mary's
On far English ground.
How my courser champs the snaffle,
And with nostril spread,
Snorts and scarcely seems to ruffle
Fern leaves with his tread ;
Cool and pleasant on his haunches
Blows the evening breeze,
Through the overhanging branches
Of the wattle trees :
Onward ! to the Southern Ocean,
Glides the breath of Spring.
Onward, with a dreary motion,
I, too, glide and sing—
Forward ! forward ! still we wander—
Tinted hills that lie
In the red horizon yonder—
Is the goal so nigh ?
Whisper, spring-wind, softly singing,
Whisper in my ear ;
Respite and nepenthe bringing,
Can the goal be near ?
Laden with the dew of vespers,
From the fragrant sky,
In my ear the wind that whispers
Seems to make reply—
'Question not, but live and labour
Till yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none ;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone :
Kindness in another's trouble.
Courage in your own.'
Courage, comrades, this is certain,
All is for the best—
There are lights behind the curtain—
Gentiles let us rest.
As the smoke-rack veers to seaward
From 'the ancient clay',
With its moral drifting leeward,
Ends the wanderer's lay.
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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A Pleasant Day For July
In the cool sun of mid Winter a gentle northern breeze
Is whispering in the parkland on the gum and wattle trees
The leaves are quietly stirring as the branches gently sway
And the sparrows are chirping on a pleasant Winter's day.
Going by the weather forecast heavy rain is on the way
The calm before the storm as some are known to say
But we won't be complaining as we do need lots of rain
To add to the Town reservoir and bring life to the creek and drain.
A pleasant day for July in the Southern Winter of the year
The sweet flute of the magpie is a joyful thing to hear
The blackbirds in the garden gathering material for their nest
And Spring is not that distant the Season many love best.
A pleasant day for July with just a slight chill in the air
And even in the southern Winter days such as this are rare
The first of September the calendar Spring's first day
In time does not seem distant barely six weeks away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Wattle
Wattle wattle everywhere
Wattle we do next wattle
Yellow life exploding out from each coarse stem
Joyful for a few short weeks
A few short weeks and then
Scrub wattle dry wattle
Until spring comes again.
poem by David Keig
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Spring Lovers
Love comes like a rose-vine clinging upward
Grasping for that first cool breeze of spring air
With a kiss of sunrise to its beauty’s reward
Fragrance burst out from its eminent bud’s lair.
When withered tree stands upon winter’s bliss,
And a snow shimmers on its branches’ content,
Love comes in spring for new leaves then to hiss,
Till this season’s course breakthrough its intent
When castles of clouds assent playful birds
Glide high and low beyond their leafy shrines
And the sunset’s amber blush oceans’ greens,
Spring is from the hearts of many sky’s herds
When the prairie cast its colors from the distant,
Unfold their leaves to dance with the windward,
And the cattle begins to sheave in a wide verdant
Spring spread love to the land of the shepherd
When the sun gives the moon a tranquil light
To the faintest stars throughout sky’s height
And the wind chimes playing a great harmony
Under the moon is where spring lovers stay
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Forward
Let me look always forward. Never back.
Was I not formed for progress? Otherwise
With onward pointing feet and searching eyes
Would God have set me squarely on the track
Up which we all must labour with life's pack?
Yonder the goal of all this travel lies.
What matters it, if yesterday the skies
With light were golden, or with clouds were black?
I would not lose to-morrow's glow of dawn
By peering backward after sun's long set.
New hope is fairer than an old regret;
Let me pursue my journey and press on-
Nor tearful eyed, stand ever in one spot,
A briny statue like the wife of Lot.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Foxfire Suite
This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the different directions album, and has also been released on the gift you are and the john denver collection - rocky mountain high a
.
Spring is alive
Spring is alive
In carolina
Deep in the forest
Where the foxfire glows
High on a mountain
Down in a holler
Thunder and lightning
So it goes
Over a hundred years ago
We came to carolina
Far across the water
Its a long hard road
With little more than courage
We came seeking independence
A little less than nothin
Is a heavy load
From the heather of the highlands
We have found the smokie mountains
Hard work and simple ways
And life is good
Life is good
Spring is alive
In carolina
Deep in the forest
Where the foxfire glows
High on a mountain
Down in a holler
Thunder and lightning
So it goes
You are
You are every morning sunrise
You are every rain
You are every peal of laughter
You are every cry of pain
You are all the summer flowers
You are all the falling leaves
You are everyone rejoicing
You are everyone who greaves
You are all my unknown secrets
You are all my hidden fears
You are known in lovers kisses
You are seen in childhood tears
You are where the stars are shining
You are where the rainbow ends
You are why the war is over
You are how the peace begins
Whisper the wind
Whisper the wind over the water
Whisper the wind all through the night
Whisper the wind along the canyon
Whisper the wind into the night
Whisper the wind brothers and sisters
Whisper the wind all the same
Whisper the wind love one another
Whisper the wind your precious name
Spring is alive (reprise)
Spring is alive
In carolina
Deep in the forest
Where the foxfire glows
High on a mountain
Down in a holler
Thunder and lightning
So it goes
Over a hundred years ago
We came to carolina
Far across the water
Its a long hard road
With little more than courage
We came seeking independence
A little less than nothin
Is a heavy load
From the heather of the highlands
We have found the smokie mountains
Hard work and simple ways
And life is good
Life is good
Spring is alive
In carolina
Deep in the forest
Where the foxfire glows
High on a mountain
Down in a holler
Thunder and lightning
So it goes
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Wattle Day
On bushes and trees on the first day of Spring
The nesting songbirds chirp and whistle and sing
In the darkness of midnight as the rain drizzled down
The Goddess of Spring she crept into town
The Spring has arrived in Australia for her three months stay
On the first of September known as Wattle Day
The rain in the morning gave way to sunshine
And the rest of the day may be sunny and fine
The wattle trees cloaked in their bright yellow flowers
They came to bloom in late Winter in the rain driven showers
With the arrival of Spring an abundance of green
And wildflowers known to some as weeds everywhere to be seen
The mealaleucas in their blooms of pink to gray
For beauty compete with the wattles on Wattle Day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Winds Message
There came a whisper down the Bland between the dawn and dark,
Above the tossing of the pines, above the river's flow;
It stirred the boughs of giant gums and stalwart iron-bark;
It drifted where the wild ducks played amid the swamps below;
It brought a breath of mountain air from off the hills of pine,
A scent of eucalyptus trees in honey-laden bloom;
And drifting, drifting far away along the Southern line
It caught from leaf and grass and fern a subtle strange perfume.
It reached the toiling city folk, but few there were that heard--
The rattle of their busy life had choked the whisper down;
And some but caught a fresh-blown breeze with scent of pine that stirred
A thought of blue hills far away beyond the smoky town;
And others heard the whisper pass, but could not understand
The magic of the breeze's breath that set their hearts aglow,
Nor how the roving wind could bring across the Overland
A sound of voices silent now and songs of long ago.
But some that heard the whisper clear were filled with vague unrest;
The breeze had brought its message home, they could not fixed abide;
Their fancies wandered all the day towards the blue hills' breast,
Towards the sunny slopes that lie along the riverside,
The mighty rolling western plains are very fair to see,
Where waving to the passing breeze the silver myalls stand,
But fairer are the giant hills, all rugged though they be,
From which the two great rivers rise that run along the Bland.
Oh! rocky range and rugged spur and river running clear,
That swings around the sudden bends with swirl of snow-white foam,
Though we, your sons are far away, we sometimes seem to hear
The message that the breezes bring to call the wanderers home.
The mountain peaks are white with snow that feeds a thousand rills,
Along the rive banks the maize grows tall on virgin land,
And we shall live to see once more those sunny southern hills,
And strike once more the bridle track that leads along the Bland.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Life is mostly froth and bubble, Two things stand like stone -- Kindness in another's trouble, Courage in your own.
quote by Adam L. Gordon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By Wood and Wold
Lightly the breath of the spring wind blows,
Though laden with faint perfume,
'Tis the fragrance rare that the bushman knows,
The scent of the wattle bloom.
Two-thirds of our journey at least are done,
Old horse ! let us take a spell
In the shade from the glare of the noon-day sun,
Thus far we have travell'd well ;
Your bridle I'll slip, your saddle ungirth,
And lay them beside this log,
For you'll roll in that track of reddish earth,
And shake like a water-dog.
Upon yonder rise there's a clump of trees—
Their shadows look cool and broad—
You can crop the grass as fast as you please,
While I stretch my limbs on the sward ;
'Tis pleasant, I ween, with a leafy screen
O'er the weary head, to lie
On the mossy carpet of emerald green,
'Neath the vault of the azure sky ;
Thus all alone by the wood and wold,
I yield myself once again
To the memories old that, like tales fresh told,
Come flitting across the brain.
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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Spring's First Day
The sun shines in the sky of blue and gray
It is a cool and rather breezy day
The magpie lark in the Townpark does sing
Pee wee pee wee on the first day of Spring.
The Goddess of Spring she flew in overnight
And no one see her in her silent flight
She is in the South for her annual three months stay
The warmer weather soon will come our way.
In her stick nest on the blackwood the magpie her eggs incubate
Her territory is guarded by her mate
He warns the other magpies in his flute like song
That this patch of ground to her and him belong.
Were I a poet to read or to recite
A song of welcome to the Spring I'd write
To the Goddess of Spring who spreads around her green
No greater beauty than her's I have seen.
The day is windy, sunny, bright and clear
And Spring is in the Southern Hemisphere
And the wattle trees laden in their blooms of gold
Stirring in the breezes lovely to behold.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Interview with Manuel Negrete
What is the most beautiful goal?
A goal with friends; a goal that is itself a goal;
A goal that is a beginning, and a goal that ends.
What is the most perfect fulcrum?
The human body where it casts a shadow.
When will the earth shift on its axis?
When the moon becomes a meteorite
And imagination lifts the heart.
Did the Azteca fly up from its foundation?
All of Mexico emerged from the ground.
Is Quetzalcoatl a soccer god?
He plays with the morning star.
What do you do with your time?
I live in the blinding moment.
poem by Salvatore Ala
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The Fallen Leaves
I.
WE stand among the fallen leaves,
Young children at our play,
And laugh to see the yellow things
Go rustling on their way:
Right merrily we hunt them down,
The autumn winds and we,
Nor pause to gaze where snow-drifts lie,
Or sunbeams gild the tree:
With dancing feet we leap along
Where wither'd boughs are strown;
Nor past nor future checks our song--
The present is our own.
II.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In youth's enchanted spring--
When Hope (who wearies at the last)
First spreads her eagle wing.
We tread with steps of conscious strength
Beneath the leafless trees,
And the colour kindles on our cheek
As blows the winter breeze;
While, gazing towards the cold grey sky,
Clouded with snow and rain,
We wish the old year all past by,
And the young spring come again.
III.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In manhood's haughty prime--
When first our pausing hearts begin
To love 'the olden time;'
And, as we gaze, we sigh to think
How many a year hath pass'd
Since 'neath those cold and faded trees
Our footsteps wander'd last;
And old companions--now perchance
Estranged, forgot, or dead--
Come round us, as those autumn leaves
Are crush'd beneath our tread.
IV.
We stand among the fallen leaves
In our own autumn day--
And, tott'ring on with feeble steps,
Pursue our cheerless way.
We look not back--too long ago
Hath all we loved been lost;
Nor forward--for we may not live
To see our new hope cross'd:
But on we go--the sun's faint beam
A feeble warmth imparts--
Childhood without its joy returns--
The present fills our hearts!
poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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We must have a theme, a goal, a purpose in our lives. If you don't know where you're aiming, you don't have a goal. My goal is to live my life in such a way that when I die, someone can say, she cared.
quote by Mary Kay Ash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Evening In October
An evening in October the second month of Spring
And in the Town of Emerald the common mynas sing
And gold billed blackbird whistling on sunlit wattle tree
And whoever coined the phrase was right 'the best things in life are free'.
The best things in life are always free and we don't have to pay
For the air we breathe and the water we drink and the sun that warms the day
And most of us do not appreciate what Mother Earth supply
We worry about little things and life we don't enjoy.
The birds sing for the joy of Spring in sun and wind and rain
They sing as if the Winter days will never come again
They do not have mortgage to pay their roof the open sky
They come and go at their own whim and they have their wings
to fly.
In sunlit park in Emerald just off of the busy street
The mynas and the blackbirds in song seem to compete
On an evening in October a warm and balmy day
And for the better things in life we do not have to pay.
poem by by unknown author
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The Whispering Wind
Don’t you love the sound of the wind
As it whispers through the trees?
A delicate swish some times
And at others it’s quite a furious breeze
We need it to pollinate plants and such
What would we do without wind?
Picking up seeds and pollen
And off to unknown places it sends
It cools things down when it’s stifling hot
Blows the dust off of dirty ‘ole things
There’s a refreshing cool breeze off the ocean
Ah yes, many wonderful things the wind brings
And then there’s the amazing sport
That needs wind in order to send
Balloons flying up into the sky
In order for them to transcend
So when we think about how important
The whispering wind is to us all
Think about being in a balloon without it
For down to the ground it would fall!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Wind Chimes
Hangin' down from my window
Those are my wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
In the late afternoon you're
Hung up on wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Though it's hard i try
Not to look at my wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Now and then a tear rolls on my cheek
On a warm breeze the little bells
Tinklin' wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
Close your eyes and lean back
Listen to wind chimes
Wind chimes
Wind chimes
It's so peaceful
Close to a lullabye
The wind chimes tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
The wind chimes tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
Tinglin'
Da do do da do do da do do da do do
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
Whisperin' winds send my wind chimes a tinklin'
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rustle
How fascinating the songs of the wind
Carrying up high the bird on spread wings
listen to the birds chirp,
and listen to the howls that are carried in the wind.
How enchanting to play with the wind
Subdued when watching the wind
the wind grabs the whisper and
carries around the world
only the wind decides where
it will take away the whisper...
The smell of blossoms blows with the wind
I search through the billion
In the field of gold and green
I smell them in my handz,
bt couldnt severalize...
their fragrance is under par.
that amply mesmerized..
A breeze brings along the fragrance of apricot flowers.
I couldnt feel the inner reality
that blows with the wind connotes diversity.
It scrawled the human mystery.
I search to find the birth of the wind
went up finding leaves rustle and bustle like a wing.
One thing in all things have I seen
In the hidden recess of the breaking sound.
I saw the flying vision there
in the deepest silence of sacred wind.
At last, at last, the meaning caught.
It shakes its wondrous plumes of thought
burning away all illusion.
unexpected, we are One and the same..
poem by Moumita .Aich
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When the wind blows
When the wind blows in autumn
Falling leaves are the outcome
As the trees become lonesome
Naked without leaves
But with the believe
Again to become wholesome
When the wind blows in winter
It welcomes a chilling breeze
With it comes the familiar freeze
Everything becomes cheaper
Activities decrease, the only increase
Are the utility bills
When the wind blows in spring
Plants spring back to life
All natural life awakens and sings
With the honeybees buzzing and cheering
The wind begins to show signs of caring
For it is awaiting summer and preparing
Whilst gently airing
When the wind blows in summer
Its power is less fierce and dimmer
Like a beginner of a swimmer
The winds touch is a lot calmer
As it turns on its gentle charmer
Allowing us to get carried away
On the hot beaches as dreamers
To a winters wind
They say no, no, no
To a summers wind
They say blow, blow, blow
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Sun Is Out And Shining
The sun is out and shining and there's warmth in the breeze
And the weather rather pleasant around 21 degrees
And pink blossoms on the fruit trees and the wild birds chirp and sing
on this the first day of September and of the calendar Spring.
The poetess is out walking and a song is in her head
And she will write a poem this evening before she goes to bed
Her dedication to September her favourite month of the year
When Spring spreads her green beauty in the Southern Hemisphere.
The lovely golden whistler his song one can't mistake
In backyard on the mirror bush he whistled at daybreak
I'd like to think he piped for Spring though naturalists tell me
That the only reason birds sing is to defend their territory.
The sun is out and shining and Spring is in the air
And blossoms on the fruit trees and parks and gardens wear
Their green cloaks of September and there's warmth in the breeze
And the weather temperatures quite pleasant around 21 degrees.
poem by Francis Duggan
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