My Nimble Moon
So lovely you grace the height of glory,
Repeating nightly to the listening earth the wondrous story.
I read in your looks a knowing judge of love,
A knowledge acquired by eyes peering long from above.
Then, with pretty flight, you perch the throne
And listen to the musings of the owl in his somber tone.
His song to you makes the crickets sing,
And a harp plays as God tunes the strings.
Gleam forever, moon of my fancy dreams,
For never are the droplets of sunlight as sweet as they seem.
poem by Albert Price
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Moonbeams Ballade
Each night you boldly face the jury,
Perched high upon your heavenly throne.
Eloquently repeating your wondrous story
Of never-ending love in flesh and bone.
Giving listening earth a heart of its own
And a yearning for joys still unseen,
Pleasures remaining yet unknown.
Forever may your light glow serene.
Your presence makes no one sorry.
The somber owl has no reason to groan.
His musings from the limestone quarry
Only make his sublime design known.
By your majesty darkness is overthrown.
The romantic cricket sings to his queen
Whose beauty he desires to be shown.
Forever may your light glow serene.
Your soothing glow calms the night’s fury,
Giving every figure an aesthetic tone.
On my windowsill the gleam of your glory
And in my room your royalty overflown.
Every apple of discord you have shone,
By the waxing of your noble sheen.
The shadow of gloom and grief has gone.
Forever may your light glow serene.
High above our arch have you flown,
As you ushered in the Master’s routine.
There you reign enthroned on high alone.
Forever may your light glow serene.
poem by Albert Price
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Sing, Sweet Harp
Sing, sweet Harp, oh sing to me
Some song of ancient days,
Whose sounds, in this sad memory,
Long-buried dreams shall raise; --
Some lay that tells of vanish'd fame,
Whose light once round us shone,
Of noble pride, now turn'd to shame,
And hopes for ever gone.
Sing, sad Harp, thus sing to me;
Alike our doom is cast,
Both lost to all but memory,
We live but in the past.
How mournfully the midnight air
Among thy chords doth sigh,
As if it sought some echo there,
Of voices long gone by; --
Of chieftains, now forgot, who seem'd
The foremost then in fame;
Of Bards who, once immortal deem'd,
Now sleep without a name.
In vain, sad Harp, the midnight air
Among thy chords doth sigh;
In vain it seeks an echo there
Of voices long gone by.
Couldst thou but call those spirits round,
Who once, in bower and hall,
Sate listening to thy magic sound,
Now mute and mouldering all; --
But, no; they would but wake to weep
Their children's slavery;
Then leave them in their dreamless sleep,
The dead, at least are free!
Hush, hush, sad Harp, that dreary tone,
That knell of Freedom's day;
Or, listening to its death-like moan,
Let me, too, die away.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Sweet, Sweet Moon of Earthly Heaven
Oh, moon, moon in the nightly sky
how beautiful you are in the nightly sky
your charming glow of light lighting up the heavens
romantizing the stars twinkling in the nightly sky of twilight
your sweet appealing face which is the chocolate chip
in every warm chocolate chip cookie
that makes people cry and laugh and hug and smile
at every glimpse of heaven in your sweet angelic face
enriching every love poem and song
which makes me glad to be alive and enjoy life
for every warm feeling that comes
when adoring the nightly moon of sweet heaven.
I love you moon
poem by Brett Strotman
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Sing Me A Song
Sing me a song,
A song you and I know,
A song that will put me to sleep,
This song that I always listen to makes me cry,
Missing you with every inch on my heart,
Knowing that you will not return,
Sing me a song,
A song that will help me forget about you,
A song that will heal my heart,
A song of forgiveness,
Just sing a song,
A song that can not be forgotten,
A song so memorable,
Only a memory,
Sing me song,
A song that we will love,
A song we can not live with out,
Just sing me a song,
A song that only you and I know.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Songs that are not sung
DO not praise: a smile is payment more than meet for what is done;
Who shall paint the mote's glad raiment floating in the molten sun?
Nay, nor smile, for blind is eyesight, ears may hear not, lips are dumb;
From the silence, from the twilight, wordless but complete they come.
Songs were born before the singer : like white souls awaiting birth,
They abide the chosen bringer of their melody to earth.
Deep the pain of our demerit: strings so rude or rudely strung,
Dull to every pleading spirit seeking speech but sent unsung;
Round our hearts with gentle breathing still the plaintive silence plays,
But we brush away its wreathing, filled with cares of common days.
Ever thinking of the morrow, burdened down with cares and needs,
Once or twice, mayhap, in sorrow, we may hear the song that pleads;
Once or twice, a dreaming poet sees the beauty as it flies,
But his vision who shall know it, who shall read it from his eyes?
Voiceless he,—his necromancy fails to cage the wondrous bird;
Lure and snare are vain when fancy flies like echo from a word.
Only sometime he may sing it, using speech as 'twere a bell,
Not to read the song but ring it, like the sea-tone from a shell.
Sometimes, too, it comes and lingers round the strings all still and mute,
Till some lover's trembling fingers draw it living from the lute.
Still, our best is but a vision which a lightning-flash illumes,
Just a gleam of life elysian flung across the voiceless glooms.
Why should gleams perplex and move us? Must the soul still upward grow
To the beauty far above us and the songs no sense may know?
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Touch the Sleeping Strings Again
Say not, O say not, we are strangers,
By freak chance together brought;
Remind me not of lurking dangers
In wreaths of friendship quickly wrought.
Some sweet attraction draws me to you;
From Memory's harp strange murmurs flow;
And something makes me think I knew you
Beyond the sea of Long Ago.
Touch the sleeping strings and
tell me, tell me whether,
Thence comes music sweet and low:
Did not we walk some shore together
Beyond the sea of Long Ago?
Your eyes, in bashful glances falling,
Light up a landscape far away;
Your voice-- to hear it is recalling
A sweet but long forgotten lay.
When all the year was pleasant weather,
And none had heard of pain or woe,
Did not we sing this tune together
Beyond the sea of Long Ago?
Think not, although I speak so boldly,
That idle words are on my tongue;
Receive my greeting not so coldly,
Nor hush the harp that would have sung;
For lightly touched, as by a feather,
The sleeping strings will thrill, I know:
Were not our spririts linked together
Beyond the sea of Long Ago?
poem by Henry Clay Work
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To Hope
Oh! take, young Seraph, take thy harp,
And play to me so cheerily;
For grief is dark, and care is sharp,
And life wears on so wearily.
Oh! take thy harp!
Oh! sing as thou wert wont to do,
When, all youth's sunny season long,
I sat and listened to thy song,
And yet 'twas ever, ever new,
With magic in its heaven-tuned string—
The future bliss thy constant theme.
Oh! then each little woe took wing
Away, like phantoms of a dream;
As if each sound
That flutter'd round,
Had floated over Lethe's stream!
By all those bright and happy hours
We spent in life's sweet eastern bow'rs,
Where thou wouldst sit and smile, and show,
Ere buds were come, where flowers would blow,
And oft anticipate the rise
Of life's warm sun that scaled the skies;
By many a story of love and glory,
And friendships promised oft to me;
By all the faith I lent to thee,—
Oh! take, young Seraph, take thy harp,
And play to me so cheerily;
For grief is dark, and care is sharp,
And life wears on so wearily.
Oh! take thy harp!
Perchance the strings will sound less clear,
That long have lain neglected by
In sorrow's misty atmosphere;
It ne'er may speak as it hath spoken
Such joyous notes so brisk and high;
But are its golden chords all broken?
Are there not some, though weak and low,
To play a lullaby to woe?
But thou canst sing of love no more,
For Celia show'd that dream was vain;
And many a fancied bliss is o'er,
That comes not e'en in dreams again.
Alas! alas!
How pleasures pass,
And leave thee now no subject, save
The peace and bliss beyond the grave!
Then be thy flight among the skies:
Take, then, oh! take the skylark's wing,
And leave dull earth, and heavenward rise
O'er all its tearful clouds, and sing
On skylark's wing!
Another life-spring there adorns
Another youth—without the dread
Of cruel care, whose crown of thorns
Is here for manhood's aching head.
Oh! there are realms of welcome day,
A world where tears are wiped away!
Then be thy flight among the skies:
Take, then, oh! take the skylark's wing,
And leave dull earth, and heavenward rise
O'er all its tearful clouds, and sing
On skylark's wing!
poem by Thomas Hood
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The Master-Player
AN old worn harp that had been played
Till all its strings were loose and frayed,
Joy, Hate and Fear, each one essayed,
To play. But each in turn had found
No sweet responsiveness of sound
Then Love the Master-Player came
With heaving breast and eyes aflame;
The harp he took all undismayed,
Smote on its strings, still strange to song,
And brought forth music sweet and strong.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Love Song...
This sweet melody on air
It still reminds me of your hair
So soft and gentle to the touch
Just like this song we love so much
This sad old tune the radio plays
It holds all our memories stay
It brings me back to happier days
When we had our love have its way
For as every note that it sings
Hits a special chord in my strings
I remember the joy that it brings
This love song that we used to sing
This sweet old song that plays on air
This sad love song the radio plays
Reminds me of how we used to be
Fills me with memories of you and me…
matthewedanolivernpalma->>>>>
poem by Matthew Edan Oliver Palma
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I Will Listen
I will listen closely to your heart
From dawn to sunset I will hear
When the stars shine I will listen
At night I shall hear your dreams
Hear the sea with its mystery
Read the poetry of glory
Spring brings lovely song birds
Wind blows through joyful trees
We listen to nature, why not the heart?
Your sweet garden is filled with flowers
In the gentle morning I will hear you
Together we paint a portrait of passion
The moon shines in your desire
When your lonely clouds cover
I will hold you beyond words
Your smile is a gift of praise
I will listen to your gentle whispers
The touch of your smooth skin
The beauty of your summer eyes
Darling, I will listen with my last breath
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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To His Lady
(Who asked a Song in Spring)
WHY do you bid your poet sing,
Who has no mind to song--
Who only wants to see the Spring,
Long sought and tarrying long?
The shivering, dreary winter through
My song enshrined my vow;
If then my songs were sweet to you,
Let me be silent now!
Have I not duly sung, my dear,
Your goodness and your grace?
Now that your rival, Spring, is here,
O let me see her face!
The hedge is white with buds of May,
The fields are green with Spring,
Oh, give your bard a holiday:
He does not want to sing!
He wants to listen; all alone,
He wants to steal away
To hear the ring-doves' tender tone,
And what the thrushes say.
He wants to hear what can't be heard
When you and love are near--
The sweet Spring's soft and secret word;
Oh, let him go, my dear!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Floras Secret
Lovers in the long grass
Look above them
Only they can see
Where the clouds are going
Only to discover
Dust and sunlight
Ever make the sky so blue
Afternoon is hazy
River flowing
All around the sounds
Moving closer to them
Telling them the story
Told by flora
Dreams they never knew
Silver willows
Tears from persia
Those who come
From a far-off island
Winter chanterelle lies
Under cover
Glory-of-the-sun in blue
Some they know as passion
Some as freedom
Some they know as love
And the way it leaves them
Summer snowflake
For a season
When the sky above is blue
When the sky above is blue
Lying in the long grass
Close beside her
Giving her the name
Of the one the moon loves
This will be the day she
Will remember
When she knew his heart
Was
Loving in the long grass
Close beside her
Whispering of love
And the way it leaves them
Lying in the long grass
In the sunlight
They believe its true love
And from all around them
Floras secret
Telling them of love
And the way it breathes
And
Looking up from eyes of
Amaranthine
They can see the sky
Is blue
Knowing that their love
Is true
Dreams they never knew
And the sky above is blue
song performed by by Enya
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sweet Song Of Love
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Walking together in our dreams where have we reached,
just look how blue is the sky here.
Our song is even sung by the birds here,
where ever our eyes can see is pure light spread.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Cool cool breezes blow here always,
beyond the stars is our little cottage.
The rainbow colours are here to manage,
they where they commence their journeyof joys.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Forbidden to meet each other in this world,
encircled within our customs were we both.
imprisoned and guarded were we both,
we died in breaking away from the customs of this world.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
poem by Renu Kakkar
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Beauty
As a sword in the sun
A glory calling a glory
Our eyes, seeing it run,
Capture its gleam for our story.
Singer, marvellous gleam
Dancing in splendid light,
Here you have brought us our dream
Ah, but its stay is its flight !
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Flora's Secret
Lovers in the long grass
look above them
only they can see
where the clouds are going
only to discover
dust and sunlight
ever make the sky so blue
Afternoon is hazy
river flowing
all around the sounds
moving closer to them
telling them the story
told by flora
dreams they never knew
Silver willows
tears from Persia
those who come
from a far-off island
winter Chanterelle lies
under cover
Glory-of-the-sun in blue
Some they know as passion
some as freedom
some they know as love
and the way it leaves them
summer snowflake
for a season
when the sky above is blue
when the sky above is blue
Lying in the long grass
close beside her
giving her the name
of the one the moon loves
this will be the day she
will remember
when she knew his heart
was
loving in the long grass
close beside her
whispering of love
and the way it leaves them
lying in the long grass
in the sunlight
they believe it's true love
and from all around them
flora's secret
telling them of love
and the way it breathes
and
looking up from eyes of
amaranthine
they can see the sky
is blue
knowing that their love
is true
dreams they never knew
and the sky above is blue
song performed by by Enya from A Day Without Rain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Harp Of The Minstrel
The harp of the minstrel has never a tone
As sad as the song in his bosom to-night,
For the magical touch of his fingers alone
Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright;
But oh! as the smile of the moon may impart
A sorrow to one in an alien clime,
Let the light of the melody fall on the heart,
And cadence his grief into musical rhyme.
The faces have faded, the eyes have grown dim
That once were his passionate love and his pride;
And alas! all the smiles that once blossomed for him
Have fallen away as the flowers have died.
The hands that entwined him the laureate's wreath
And crowned him with fame in the long, long ago,
Like the laurels are withered and folded beneath
The grass and the stubble--the frost and the snow.
Then sigh, if thou wilt, as the whispering strings
Strive ever in vain for the utterance clear,
And think of the sorrowful spirit that sings,
And jewel the song with the gem of a tear.
For the harp of the minstrel has never a tone
As sad as the song in his bosom tonight,
And the magical touch of his fingers alone
Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Psalm 150
Praise the Lord of the morning
When the sun rises from its sleep
Praise the Lord for His excellent greatness
For His beauty makes me weep
Praise the Lord when the darkness falls
And the moon rises high above
Praise the Lord for His majestic glory
And His everlasting love
Praise the Lord in the winter
When the snow falls on the ground
Praise the Lord for His glorious presence
When we stand upon holy ground
Praise the Lord of the summer
When the days are warm and long
Praise the Lord for His magnificent splendor
And the saints shall sing a new song
Praise the Lord of the springtime
When the blossoms on the tree
Praise the Lord for His holiness
And for the Blood that set us free
Praise the Lord of the Autumn
When the leaves fall to the ground
Praise the Lord for His faithfulness
And that His grace abounds
Praise the Lord when your happy
And there's a smile upon your face
Praise the Lord for His mercy
And for His saving grace
Praise the Lord when you're in despair
And your pierced by a fiery dart
Praise the Lord for HIs loving kindness
That restores your broken heart
Praise the Lord with your last breath
As you lie upon your bed
Praise the Lord for His promises
To raise you from the dead
Praise the Lord for all eternity
As you gather around His throne
Praise the Lord for His incredible beauty
As you worship Him alone
Let trumpet, harp and timbrel praise
And dance before the King
Let all with breath praise the Lord
And with their voices sing
Hallelujah to the King of Kings
We worship and bow down
We sing to you forever more
And we will crown Him with many crowns
poem by Frank McEleny
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Psalm 70
Let our God be magnified
For He makes my woes take flight
He rides upon the winds of joy
His glory lights up the night
We are poor and needy Lord
Without you we are lost
We fall before your throne of grace
In thanks, you paid the cost
Hear me Lord O don't delay
I love you more and more each day
And forever you will hear me say
All glory to the King
poem by Frank McEleny
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Today... 'Glory
Images or idols can never replace
our great God of wondrous Glory and Grace.
How can we forget the Lord of Heaven
Who suffered that we might be forgiven?
Come, join now with me in singing His praise
and let us our heavenly anthem raise
with the harmony of worship and of love
to our Glorious Lord Who reigns above.
Glory and all Glory everlasting be
To Christ Jesus Who gave His life for me.
I sing praise to my Lord of Glory
as I tell salvations wondrous story.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
Key to your song
Key to your song
~
There's a song playing on the keys to your dreams
a chord rings out while you sleep as beautiful as you are
the words wait to be sung aloud to a chorus as yet unheard
let me sing with you sometime, let me here you sing
the strings will play a melody that we both know
the sound of the music carried in the air while you breathe
is the softest most gentle touch to my soul
any sonnet carried to a symphony is graceful
listen to what you feel inside of your heart
upon every key which unlocks all you are
a note plays to entertain another dream
and here is your song playing again
just as when you slept safe in a dream
there's a song playing in my eyes as I look at you
beautiful love please let it be sung
poem by Matthew Holloway
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