Country Song
`Lily of the Valley (Convalaria Majalis, fam. Lilliaceae). Grows wild in N. England. Commonly cultivated. Flowers in May. Berries red when ripe. Leaves particularly poisonous because three constituents depress the heart, like Foxglove.'
What are the constituents that depress the heart?
the scent of lilies in dark green silences under trees
milkweed and ragwort and sunshine in hedges
small flowers picked amongst trees when it's raining
A year ago
You planted lilies in the valley of my mind
There were lilies at the bottom of my garden
And ferrys at the bottom of my street
Now
I sit here in sunlight with the smell of wild garlic
Trying to tape record the sound of windflowers and
celandines
Wondering What are the three constituents that depress the heart Without you here in the country?
poem by Adrian Henri
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Related quotes
River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Enchanted Garden
OH, what a garden it was, living gold, living green,
Full of enchantments like spices embalming the air,
There, where you fled and I followed--you ever unseen,
Yet each glad pulse of me cried to my heart, 'She is there!'
Roses and lilies and lilies and roses again,
Tangle of leaves and white magic of blossoming trees,
Sunlight that lay where, last moment, your footstep had lain--
Was not the garden enchanted that proffered me these?
Ah, what a garden it is since I caught you at last--
Scattered the magic and shattered the spell with a kiss:
Wintry and dreary and cold with the wind of the past,
Ah that a garden enchanted should wither to this!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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In the spirit of Rumi - 45 - The Lily
In the gardens of the world
as the world and seasons turn,
in a thousand thousand gardens,
in a million fields and valleys,
the lilies grow.
the lilies of the field – proud
yet modest in the grass, proud
that Jesus spoke of them;
lilies of the valley – proud
yet modest as their scent
sings and calls, amongst all
the heady scents of nature,
the scent so close
to the wild cyclamen
in the hillside grass;
the regal lily, sharing with the rose
the Caliph’s and the Sultan’s gardens,
listening all their lives as lilies do
to the plashing fountain in the fragrant courtyard;
laughing quietly as the kohl-eyed beauties
round the Caliph in the evening garden
vie behind their silken veils
with perfumes mixed and strange..
each day, one lily in the bed
reaches its perfection, glows,
exults in its day of unique status,
as every lily has its day..
What honour then, can God bestow
upon his creatures, so magnificent,
so thunderous in their praise of Him
for those with ears to hear?
His most precious gift, which even men
rarely earn with all a lifetime serving Him –
a glimpse of His perfection..
And the regal lily, full of the humility
of the lily, Mary’s flower,
bows its slender neck
yields all its beauty, bowing low,
folds its curled petals, as Mary
submitting to the will of God;
and we, walking in the garden,
glance and say ‘Behold,
that lily which, but yesterday, was perfect,
is fading now already…’ and in our heart
passes, is discarded, the evening chill
of knowing ourselves to be that lily..
pride, humility, the gifted glimpse of God’s perfection,
barely acknowledged as they pass..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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You want a lily
You want a lily
And you plead with me
'Give me my lily back.'
I went to see
A friend last night and on her mantelshelf
I saw some lilies,
Image of myself,
And most unlike your dream of purity.
They had been small green lilies, never white
For man's delight
In their most blissful hours.
But now the flowers
Had shrivelled and instead
Shone spikes of seeds,
Burned spikes of seeds,
Burned red
As love and death and fierce futurity.
There's this much of the lily left in me.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Quiet
Waiting for the voice
The sound of silence
The secrets, the heart beat
The autumn is gone
Where are the birds hiding
When are the flowers blooming
The winter is coming
with no snow
For the sunshine sleeping
For the sea in the night
All in dark, all in depress
How can I pray for the happiness
Pray for the romance
Pray for the spring
Many of our constituents have one option for cable TV and one price. Our constituents desire choice.
quote by Melissa Bean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Babies of Walloon
He was lengthsman on the railway, and his station scarce deserved
That “pre-eminence in sorrow” of the Majesty he served,
But as dear to him and precious were the gifts reclaimed so soon—
Were the workman’s little daughters who were buried near Walloon.
Speak their names in tones that linger, just as though you held them dear;
There are eyes to which the mention of those names will bring a tear.
Little Kate and Bridget, straying in an autumn afternoon,
Were attracted by the lilies in the water of Walloon.
All is dark to us. The angels sing perhaps in Paradise
Of the younger sister’s danger, and the elder’s sacrifice;
But the facts were hidden from us, when the soft light from the moon
Glistened on the water-lilies o’er the Babies at Walloon.
Ah! the children love the lilies, while we elders are inclined
To the flowers that have poison for the body and the mind.
Better for the “strongly human” to have done with life as soon,
Better perish for a lily like the Babies of Walloon.
For they gather flowers early on the river far away,
Where the everlasting lilies keep their purity for aye,
And while summer brings our lilies to the run and the lagoon
May our children keep the legend of the Babies of Walloon.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Lass Of The Low Country
Traditional
Oh she was a lass from the low country
And he was a lord of high degree
But she loved him oh so tenderly
Oh sorrow sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod
No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god
One day when the snow was on the mead
She passed him by on a milk white steed
And she spoke to him low nobody paid no need
Oh sorrow sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod
No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god
Now if you be a lass from the low country
Dont love no man of high degree
For he dont got a heart or no sympathy
Oh sorrow sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where wild flowers nod
No-one knows how she loved him but herself and god
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lllama
[many years after the overthrow of wilson, a rebel soldier crouching
High on a hilltop above the war torn forests of gamehendge spots a
Group of loyalists approaching from their lakeside encampment below.
His trusty llama stands beside him, loaded down with a canvas pack
That holds two large bazooka type guns to the animals sides. near the
Man sits a cache of blastoplast, each capable of destroying the entire
Hillside in an instant...]
Sunrise over the turquoise mountains
Messenger birds in sight
They came up through the valley
Both sides at a time
Through the cold steady rain
Raid!
I bend down
Poke a double decker on a llama
Taboot
Llama, taboot taboot
Trigger a blastoplast, ramshackle laker recedes
I start to run
It was the loudest thing Id ever heard
And I knew my time had come
To enter the delta
Leave it on press [2x]
Depress, depress
Llama, taboot taboot
Leave it on press
Depress, depress
Llama, taboot taboot
Llama, taboot taboot
Llama, taboot taboot
Taboot taboot
Taboot taboot
Taboot
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Llama
Many years after the overthrow of Wilson, a rebel soldier crouching
high on a hilltop above the war torn forests of Gamehendge spots a
group of loyalists approaching from their lakeside encampment below.
His trusty llama stands beside him, loaded down with a canvas pack
that holds two large bazooka type guns to the animal's sides. Near the
man sits a cache of blastoplast, each capable of destroying the entire
hillside in an instant...]
Sunrise over the turquoise mountains
Messenger birds in sight
They came up through the valley
Both sides at a time
Through the cold steady rain
Raid!
I bend down
Poke a double decker on a llama
Taboot
Llama, Taboot Taboot
Trigger a blastoplast, ramshackle laker recedes
I start to run
It was the loudest thing I'd ever heard
And I knew my time had come
To enter the delta
Leave it on press [2x]
Depress, Depress
Llama, Taboot Taboot
Leave it on press
Depress, Depress
Llama, Taboot Taboot
Llama, Taboot Taboot
Llama, Taboot Taboot
Taboot Taboot
Taboot Taboot
Taboot
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Iris in Her Pride
Not Iris in her pride and bravery
Adorns her arch with such variety;
Nor doth the Milk-white Way in frosty night
Appear so fair and beautiful in sight,
As do these fields and groves and sweetest bowers
Bestrewed and decked with parti-coloured flowers.
Along the bubbling brooks and silver glide,
That at the bottom doth in silence slide,
The water-flowers and lilies on the banks
Like blazing comets burgeon all in ranks;
Under the hawthorn and the poplar tree,
Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be,
The primrose and the purple hyacinth,
The dainty violet and the wholesome minth,
The double-daisy and the cowslip (Queen)
Of summer flowers) do over-peer the green;
And round about the valley as ye pass,
Ye may not see, for peeping flowers, the grass.
poem by George Peele
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The Lily and the Bee
I Looked upon the lilies
When the morning sun was low,
And the sun shone through a lily
With a softened honey glow.
A spot was in the lily
That moved incessantly,
And when I looked into the cup
I saw a morning bee.
“Consider the lilies!”
But, it occurs to me,
Does any one consider
The lily and the bee?
The lily stands for beauty,
Use, purity, and trust,
It does a four-fold duty,
As all good mortals must.
Its whiteness is to teach us,
Its faith to set us free,
Its beauty is to cheer us,
And its wealth is for the bee.
“Consider the lilies!”
But, it occurs to me,
Does any one consider
The lily and the bee?
poem by Henry Lawson
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Monet
Painting sunrise
Haystacks in sun
In snow and rain
Capturing the light
In bold brush strokes
Distinct colors
Mingling in mind's eye
Sowed seeds in art
World of impressionism
To viewers delight
Garden at Giverny
Nature's necklace
Of exquisite beauty
Of colorful flowers
Hanging strings of leaves
Of willow trees
Bridge reflected
In stillness of the pond
Water lilies abound
Like stars in the sky
Life size canvases
Of water lilies created
With eye sight fading
Steadiness of hand diminished
Stand as monumental works
For generations to come.
poem by Tirupathi Chandrupatla
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Wild garden
I saw rows of white,
yellow and red lilies bloom,
next to the railway tracts.
Loaded trains rattled past
and that garden,
sprang up by itself between the weeds.
With the early summer rain
rows of blue, white and pink wild flowers
bloomed next to the road that passed nearby.
Some finches nested in the trees
and red, yellow and green birds
flew past the vast garden
of earth that came alive
as far as the eye could see.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Wild In The Country
(words & music by george wise - hugo peretti - luigi creatore)
A rose grows wild in the country
A tree grows tall as the sky
The wind blows wild in the country
And part of the wild, wild country, am i
Wild, wild, like the deer and the dove
Wild and free is this land that I love
A dream grows wild in the country
A love grows tall as the sky
A heart beats wild in the country
And here with a dream in my heart
Part of the wild, wild country, am i
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: All Things Have a Purpose
A wild tree grows for ants to be its guests!
Old water-tank helps frogs spawn, croak each year;
A neem tree grows for birds to build their nests;
The refuse-dumps rear insects sounding ear.
The cut tree-trunks help white ants eat and breed;
The papayas help birds to beak with joy;
On wild berries, squirrels happily feed;
The tall palm-trees house pea-fowls to enjoy.
The wilder trees add greenness to the earth;
The wild flowers give nectar to wild bees;
The parrot-noise though disturbing, gives mirth;
His duty to His creatures all, God sees.
Don’t blame something if you can’t understand;
God knows the uses of the desert-sand!
poem by John Celes
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A Kentish Garden
THERE is a grey-walled garden, far away
From noise and smoke of cities, where the hours
Pass with soft wings among the happy flowers,
And lovely leisure blossoms every day.
There, tall and white, the sceptral lily blows;
There grow the pansy, pink, and columbine,
Brave hollyhocks, and star-white jessamine,
And the red glory of the royal rose.
There greeny glow-worms gem the dusky lawn,
The lime-trees breathe their fragrance to the night,
Pink roses sleep, and dream that they are white,
Until they wake to colour with the dawn.
There, in the splendour of the sultry noon,
The sunshine sleeps upon the garden bed
Where the white poppy droops a drowsy head
And dreams of kisses from the white full moon.
And there, some days, all wild with wind and rain,
The tossed trees show the white side of their leaves,
While the great drops drip from the ivied eaves,
And birds are still--till the sun shines again.
And there, all days, my heart goes wandering,
Because there, first, my heart began to know
The glories of the summer and the snow,
The loveliness of harvest and of spring.
There may be fairer gardens; but I know
There is no other garden half so dear;
Because 'tis there, this many, many a year,
The sacred, sweet, white flowers of memory grow!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Lockerbie Street
Such a dear little street it is, nestled away
From the noise of the city and heat of the day,
In cool shady coverts of whispering trees,
With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze
Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet
With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street!
There is such a relief, from the clangor and din
Of the heart of the town, to go loitering in
Through the dim, narrow walks, with the sheltering shade
Of the trees waving over the long promenade,
And littering lightly the ways of our feet
With the gold of the sunshine of Lockerbie street.
And the nights that come down the dark pathways of dusk,
With the stars in their tresses, and odors of musk
In their moon-woven raiments, bespangled with dews,
And looped up with lilies for lovers to use
In the songs that they sing to the tinkle and beat
Of their sweet serenadings through Lockerbie street.
O my Lockerbie street! You are fair to be seen--
Be it noon of the day, or the rare and serene
Afternoon of the night-- you are one to my heart,
And I love you above all the phrases of art,
For no language could frame and no lips could repeat
My rhyme-haunted raptures of Lockerbie street.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Where'er You Walk
`Where'er you walk
Cool gales shall fan that glade'
The Pierhead where you walked will be made a park
restricted to lovers under 27
Peasants will be found merrymaking after the storm in
Canning St where you walked
The station where we first arrived at night
Will be preserved for the nation With the echo of your footsteps still sounding in the empty
roof
`Where'er you tread
The Blushing flower shall rise'
The alleyway where we read poems to dustbins after closing time
The kitchens where we quarrelled at parties
The kitchen where two strangers first kissed at a party full of strangers
The ticket barrier where we said goodnight so many times
The cobblestones in front of the station
The pub where the kindly old waiter
Always knows what we want to drink -
ALL SHALL BURST INTO BLOOM
SPROUTING FLOWERS BRIGHTER THAN PLASTIC ONES
IN WOOLWORTHS
Daffodils and chrysanthemums, rhododendrons and
snowdrops, tulips and roses
cobblestones bursting with liliesofthevalley
`And all things flourish'
Whole streets where you walk are paved with soft grass
so the rain will never go through your shoes again
Zebra crossings made of lilies
Belisha beacons made of orange blossom
Bus stops huge irises
Traffic lights made of snapdragons
`Trees where you sit
Shall crowd into a shade'
even in Piccadilly
stations covered in flowers yellow like the paint you once
got in your hair
Oak trees growing everywhere we've kissed
Will still be there when I've forgotten what you look like
And you don't remember me at all
Copies of your letters to me on blue paper
Written on the sky by an aeroplane over all the cities of
England
Copies of your poems stamped on eggs instead of lions
We will walk forever in the darkness under fern leaves
`Trees where you sit shall crowd into a shade'
poem by Adrian Henri
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Spring
See how new green shoots
and branches and leaves
and flowers appear
and the green grass
rises everywhere,
the gods had set a part
of Eden here.
Hear the birds
sing and cheer
and see them fly past
and follow the white-hot sun
while the rays comes to stay
for a longer time.
Smell the first rain
and wild flowers
in the fields
and get thrilled
by the sweet scent
that every flower brings
Abide with me
as the trees dress fit
for a royal wedding
and new life
appears from where it hides
and realise that Spring
is a living thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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