En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Owl And The Lark

A grizzled owl at midnight moped
Where thick the ivy glistened;
So I, who long have vainly groped
For wisdom, leaned and listened.

Its perch was firm, its aspect staid,
Its big eyes gleamed and brightened;
Now, now at last, will doubt be laid,
Now yearning be enlightened.

``Tu-whit! Tu-whoo!'' the bird discoursed,
``Tu-whoo! Tu-whit!'' repeated:
Showing how matter was, when forced
Through space, condensed and heated;

How rent, but spinning still, 'twas sphered
In star, and orb, and planet,
Where, as it cooled, live germs appeared
In lias, sand, and granite:

And, last, since nothing 'neath the sun
Avoids material tether,
How life must end, when once begun,
In scale, and hoof, and feather.

Then, flapping from the ivy-tod,
It slouched around the gable,
And, perching there, discussed if God
Be God, or but a fable.

In pompous scales Free Will and Fate
Were placed, and poised, and dangled,
And riddles small from riddles great
Expertly disentangled.

It drew betwixt ``Tu-whit,'' ``Tu-whoo,''
Distinctions nice and nicer:
The bird was very wise, I knew,
But I grew no whit wiser.

Then, letting metaphysics slip,
It mumbled moral thunder;
Showing how Virtue's self will trip
If Reason chance to blunder.

Its pleated wings adown its breast
Were like a surplice folded;
And, if the truth must be confessed,
It threatened me and scolded.

I thought the lecture somewhat long,
Impatient for its ending;
When, sudden, came a burst of song!
It was the lark ascending.

Dew gleamed in many a jewelled cup,
The air was bright and gracious;
And away the wings and the song went up,
Up through the ether spacious.

They bubbled, rippled, up the dome,
In sprays of silvery trilling;
Like endless fountain's lyric foam,
Still falling, still refilling.

And when I could no more descry
The bird, I still could hear it;
For sight, but not for soul, too high,
Unseen but certain Spirit.

All that the perched owl's puckered brow
Had vainly bid me ponder,
The lark's light wings were solving now
In the roofless dome up yonder.

Then brief as lightning-flash,-no more,-
I passed beyond the Finite;
And, borne past Heaven's wide-open door,
Saw everything within it.

Slow showering down from cloudless sphere,
The wanderer Elysian
Dropped nearer, clearer, to the ear,
Then back into the vision.

On his own song he seemed to swim;
Diving through song, descended:
Since I had been to Heaven with him,
Earth now was apprehended.

O souls perplexed by hood and cowl,
Fain would you find a teacher,
Consult the lark and not the owl,
The poet, not the preacher.

While brains mechanic vainly weave
The web and woof of thinking,
Go, mount up with the lark, and leave
The bird of wisdom blinking.

poem by Alfred Austin
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A Question Answered

I saw the lark at break of day
Rise from its dewy bed,
And, winged with melody, away
Circle to Heaven o'erhead.

I watched it higher and higher soar,
Still ceasing not to trill,
When, though I could descry no more
Its flight, I heard it still.

But shortly quavered back its note,
And, hovering into sight,
I saw it, homeward sinking, float
Over its nest of night.

``Tell me,'' I cried, ``glad songster, why
You, privileged to wend
Up to the blue and boundless sky,
Where only wings ascend,

``Full into Heaven, to look and gaze
Whither our thoughts aspire,
And, unrebuked, terrestrial lays
Blend with celestial choir,

``Why you, thus welcomed to the height
Of minstrelsy and mirth,
Pavilioned high from mortal sight,
Come back again to Earth.''

Then shook the lark again its wings,
And, fluttering o'er its bed
Deep-bosomed in the grassy floor,
In rippling answer said:-

``'Tis joy to mount, alone, aloft,
Into the ether clear,
And thence look down on garth and croft
Of red-roofed hamlets here.

``To sing my song through endless space,
Towering above, above,
While mortals watch with upturned face
Of longing and of love;

``Then, for a while, unseen to pass
Through unsubstantial dome,
But treble back to tangled grass-
Not Heaven, withal my home.

``And tell me, when I skyward sing,
Am I unlike to you,
That on Imagination's wing
Strain sometimes out of view

``Into the radiant Realms untrod
Song can alone descry,
And whilom join, by grace of God,
Angelic company

``Yet sink down from the firmament
Back to life's dearth and dole,
Knowing full well that song was sent
To comfort and console.''

poem by Alfred Austin
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Our Bird In Your Cage

we have this bird
we both own it and love it and care for it
our bird
and you have this cage
that you only own
golden, new and strong and as you say it
so reliable
that when our bird is in that cage
it will be safe
and cannot escape

we feed this bird together
and give it water and birdseeds
and a place of twigs and swing
where the bird can play
and perch upon
like it is on a tree

days and years
we keep this bird in your cage
and we see it is dying
and wanting to be free

yet you say, this sickness is just temporary
time heals what has wounded it
and shall forget the power of its wings

days and more years
we keep this bird in your cage
and i have not listened at all
to the sad song of that bird
her waning chirps
her weakened wings
her way of losing hold to the dreams of its wings

today we see this bird is dead
but you have no sadness at all
you say, you will buy another bird
again to be kept in your cage

i could have told you
i am the bird in your cage and i too have forgotten the power of
my wings

i could have told you, i have long died
and have forgotten what freedom is, what love is, what i am

in the first place. How can i ever tell you?
you are my cage.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Farewell Little Bird

Little bird,
why are you so lonely?

Did you not like your home
that I have prepared for you?

Look! it's made of gold!

Can't you see?
I have given you
the nicest place to live
because
you are so dear to me.

Little bird
please sing me a song,
the one
that I have heard from you
the day I saw you in the forest
before I made you mine.

Little bird,
why are you still lonely?

Is my heart for you
not enough?
Do you really want your life
back in the forest? ....

Little bird,
there you are!
now, spread your wings
I'm setting you free.....

Little bird,
I'd rather let you go
and see your happiness,
than keep you beside me
and see your loneliness.

Farewell little bird.

I wish
to hear your song again
......in the forest.

poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Memphis Flyer

Take me home on the Memphis Flyer
Take me home to a point down south
Got to go just to keep from dying
Come on, baby,
You and me gonna play house
You and me on the wings of freedom
You and me leave it all behind
I can't say where it's all been leadin'
But come on, baby
Before we go changin' our mind
We can fly
Like a bird on the wings of a song
We get by
We're alive but you know that it won't
Be too long, be too long, be too long
Come on, honey
Time to be movin' on
Now or never, baby
Got to fly like a song of freedom
Got to fly just to save my soul
You get by on the song I'm singin'
Come on, baby
We're too young to be gettin' old
We can fly
Like a bird on the wings of a song
We get by
We're alive but we won't be too long
We can fly, we can fly,
We can fly, we can fly

song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In A Vale

When I was young, we dwelt in a vale
By a misty fen that rang all night,
And thus it was the maidens pale
I knew so well, whose garments trail
Across the reeds to a window light.
The fen had every kind of bloom,
And for every kind there was a face,
And a voice that has sounded in my room
Across the sill from the outer gloom.
Each came singly unto her place,
But all came every night with the mist;
And often they brought so much to say
Of things of moment to which, they wist,
One so lonely was fain to list,
That the stars were almost faded away
Before the last went, heavy with dew,
Back to the place from which she came-
Where the bird was before it flew,
Where the flower was before it grew,
Where bird and flower were one and the same.
And thus it is I know so well
Why the flower has odor, the bird has song.
You have only to ask me, and I can tell.
No, not vainly there did I dwell,
Nor vainly listen all the night long.

poem by Robert Frost
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Gliding Bird

(Tom Slocum)
Gliding bird gliding through the sky
I'm wondering why I can't be why I can't be as free
Gliding bird gliding all day long
Sing your secret song away from all these faces that I see
Is where I want to be
My feet are so tired
They walked too many miles
If I run so wild like heaven's child
I'll learn to fly someday
Gliding bird riding in the sun
Rainbow colors run
I hear the wind
I hear its mournful call
Gliding bird high above the sea
Is it longing to be free
Your voice is silent
But your wings tell all

song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Butterfly and the Lark

The Butterfly and the Lark (Shakespearan Sonnet)

Much like a painted picture taken flight,
With wings wearing yellows, pinks and blues,
A butterfly on Flora did alight,
His thirst to satiate with nect'rous juice.

Admiring him, upon a nearby tree,
Behind the foliage-screen a lark did hide.
The former froze with fear when, suddenly,
The ominous bird with oggling eyes he spied.

'Too small a prey I am; do pity me'
He begged. Then came a song-like sweet reply:
'Feast enough for me has been your beauty;
I've had my fill; for food no need have I.
But, whilst I sing, will you not display
Your glorious hues in all their bright array?

poem by Dr. Tulsi Hanumanthu
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To Cry You A Song

Flying so high, trying to remember
How many cigarettes did I bring along?
When I get down Ill jump in a taxi cab
Driving through london town
To cry you a song.
Its been a long time --
Still shaking my wings.
Well, Im a glad bird
I got changes to ring.
Closing my dream inside its paper-bag.
Thought I saw angels
But I could have been wrong.
Search in my case,
Cant find what theyre looking for.
Waving me through
To cry you a song.
Its been a long time --
Still shaking my wings.
Well Im a glad bird
I got changes to ring.
Lights in the street,
Peeping through curtains drawn.
Rattling of safety chain taking too long.
The smile in your eyes was never so sweet before --
Came down from the skies
To cry you a song.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The lark confinèd in his cage

The lark confinèd in his cage,
And captive in his wing,
Though fluttering with imprisoned rage,
Forbeareth not to sing.

But still the strain, though loud and long,
Is but the mock of mirth,
Not that dawn-dewy nuptial song
That weddeth Heaven with Earth.

Voice that in freedom seems so soft,
Fettered, sounds harsh and rough.
Listen! He shrilleth far too oft,
Nor faltereth half enough.

And I, still feebler it not free,
Do hourly more and more
Grow silent in captivity,
And, if I sing, must soar.

And as the lark's free carol floats
High on a sea of sound,
So let me fling my random notes
To ripple round and round.

Hark! now he shakes the towering skies,
A carillon of light,
Then dwindleth to a faint surmise,
Still singing out of sight.

And, though in clearest light arrayed
The Poet's song should shine,
Sometimes his far-off voice will fade
Into the dim divine.

Then we with following ear and heart
Should listen to the end,
Though we descry may but in part,
And dimly apprehend.

Lo! soon he quits his heavenly quest,
Slow-carolling into sight,
Then, quavering downward, strikes his nest,
Earthward aerolite.

So doubt not, dear, that if I soar
Where none longwhile may dwell,
Though Heaven at times may be my home,
Home is my Heaven as well.

poem by Alfred Austin
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A Farewell: To C.E.G

My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe in skies so dull and gray;
Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I'll leave you,
For every day.

I'll tell you how to sing a clearer carol
Than lark who hails the dawn or breezy down;
To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel
Than Shakespeare's crown.

Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;
Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever,
One grand sweet song.

poem by Charles Kingsley
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Amaranth

ONCE a poet—long ago—
Wrote a song as void of art
As the songs that children know,
And as pure as a child’s heart.
With a sigh he threw it down,
Saying, “This will never shed
Any glory or renown
On my name when I am dead.

“I will sing a lordly song
Men shall hear, when I am gone,
Through the years sound clear and strong
As a golden clarion.”

So this lordly song he sang
That would gain him deathless fame—
When the death-knell o’er him rang
No man even knew its name.

Ay, and when his way he found
To the place of singing souls,
And beheld their bright heads crowned
With song-woven aureoles,

He stood shame-faced in the throng,
For his brow of wreath was bare,
And, alas! his lordly song
Sere had grown in that sweet air;

Then, all sudden, a divine
Light fell on him from afar,
And he felt the child-song shine
On his forehead like a star.

So for ever. Each and all
Songs of passion or of mirth
That are not heart-pure shall fall
As a sky-lark’s—to the earth;

But the soul’s song has no bounds—
Like the voice of Israfel,
From the heaven of heavens it sounds
To the very hell of hell.

poem by Victor James Daley
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Song Of The Spirit

Too sweet and too subtle for pen or for tongue
In phrases unwritten and measures unsung,
As deep and as strange as the sounds of the sea,
Is the song that my spirit is singing to me.

In the midnight and tempest when forest trees shiver,
In the roar of the surf, and the rush of the river,
In the rustle of leaves and the fall of the rain,
And on the low breezes I catch the refrain.

From the vapours that frame and envelop the earth,
And beyond, from the realms where my spirit had birth,
From the mists of the land and the fogs of the sea,
For ever and ever the songs come to me.

I know not its wording - its import I know -
For the rhythm is broken, the measure runs low,
When vexed or allured by the things of this life
My soul is merged into its pleasures or strife.

When up to the hill tops of beauty and light
My soul like a lark in the ether takes flight,
And the white gates of heaven shine brighter and nearer,
The song of the spirit grows sweeter and clearer.

Up, up to the realms where no mortal has trod -
Into space and infinity near to my God -
With whiteness, and silence, and beautiful things,
I am bourne when the voice of eternity sings.

When once in the winds or the dropp of the rain
Thy spirit shall listen and hear the refrain,
Thy soul shall soar up like a bird on the breeze,
And the things that have pleased thee will never more please.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Summons

Straight to his death he went,
A smile on his lips,
All his life's joy unspent,
Into eclipse.

The song of the shell he heard
Cleaving the dark,
As though 'twere the song of a bird,
Linnet or lark.

Why would he go so fast
Out to the dead,
All in a heavenly haste
Not to be stayed?

What did he see afar
That drew him after?
Light from a merry star,
Singing and laughter?

Nay, but a face was his
Only in dreams,
Only in dreams of bliss
In the star-gleams.

Nay, but a face that watched
Long years to see
Who came by the door unlatched,
If it were he.

What was the voice before
That lured him on?
'Oh, thou long-hungered for,
My son, my son!'

Lo, he hath heard, hath seen,
He hath slipped over
Where the great days begin
For friend and lover.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Lark

You said that you loved the lark more than any other bird because of its straight flight toward the sun. That is how I wanted our flight to be.
Albatrosses fly over the sea, intoxicated by salt and iodine. They are like unfettered waves playing in the air, but they do not lose touch with the other waves.
Storks make long journeys; they cast shadows over the Earth's face. But like albatrosses, they fly horizontally, resting in the hills.
Only the lark leaps out of ruts like a live dart, and rises, swallowed by the heavens. Then the sky feels as though the Earth itself has risen. Heavy jungles below do not answer the lark. Mountains crucified over the flatlands do not answer.
But a winged arrow quickly shoots ahead, and it sings between the sun and the Earth. One does not know if the bird has come down from the sun or risen from the Earth. It exists between the two, like a flame. When it has serenaded the skies with its abundance, the exhausted lark lands in the wheatfield.
You, Francis, wanted us to achieve that vertical flight, without a zigzag, in order to arrive at that haven where we could rest in the light.
You wanted the morning air filled with arrows, with a multitude of carefree larks. Francis, with each morning song, you imagined that a net of golden larks floated between the Earth and the sky.
We are burdened, Francis. We cherish our lukewarm rut: our habits. We exalt ourselves in glory just as the towering grass aspires. The loftiest blade does not reach beyond the high pines.
Only when we die do we achieve that vertical flight! Never again, held back by earthly ruts, will our bodies inhibit our souls.

poem by Gabriela Mistral
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The Tame Bird Was In A Cage

THE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, 'O my love, let us fly to the wood.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Come hither, let us both live in the cage.'
Says the free bird, 'Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?'
'Alas,' cries the caged bird, 'I should not know where to sit perched in the sky.'

The free bird cries, 'My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands.'
The cage bird sings, 'Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned.'
The forest bird cries, 'No, ah no! songs can never be taught.'
The cage bird says, 'Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands.'

There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, 'Come closer, my love!'
The free bird cries, 'It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.'

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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VI

The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to wood."
The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the
cage."
Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread
one's wings?"
"Alas," cries the cage bird, "I should not know where to sit
perched in the sky."

The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the
woodlands."
The cage bird says, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of
the learned."
The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."
The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the
woodlands."

Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing
to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to
know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my
love!"
The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of
the cage."
The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead."

poem by Rabindranath Tagore from The Gardener (1913)
Submitted by Silvia Velea
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What You Are Saying

you once said
you are unhappy
you live on this hard shell
of a tortoise
and your burden
is such that you cannot
really move freely
as a bird with its wings

you wish the burden
melts into your skin
and it is done

then you say
the skin binds you
and the flesh and bone
are burdens too

you want something
lighter like the feathers
of a free bird
something light and easy
and verily free
and it is done

i am happy to see
you flying in the skies
doing some acrobatics
in space
chirping some melodies
under the trees
diving in the sea
teasing the rivers
and this hovering
on the cows

and today i hear
a different song
a sad song from a bird
by my window
it is you
you want to return
to the hard shell of
the tortoise
you miss the silence
and the privacy
of your hiding

now, you have doubts
what burdens are
what freedom is
and this cannot just
be easily done

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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358

you once said
you are unhappy
you live on this hard shell
of a tortoise
and your burden
is such that you cannot
really move freely
as a bird with its wings

you wish the burden
melts into your skin
and it is done

then you say
the skin binds you
and the flesh and bone
are burdens too

you want something
lighter like the feathers
of a free bird
something light and easy
and verily free
and it is done

i am happy to see
you flying in the skies
doing some acrobatics
in space
chirping some melodies
under the trees
diving in the sea
teasing the rivers
and this hovering
on the cows

and today i hear
a different song
a sad song from a bird
by my window
it is you
you want to return
to the hard shell of
the tortoise
you miss the silence
and the privacy
of your hiding

now, you have doubts
what burdens are
what freedom is
and this cannot just
be easily done

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Upon The Lark and The Fowler

Thou simple bird, what makes thou here to play?
Look, there's the fowler, pr'ythee come away.
Do'st not behold the net? Look there, 'tis spread,
Venture a little further, thou art dead.
Is there not room enough in all the field
For thee to play in, but thou needs must yield
To the deceitful glitt'ring of a glass,
Plac'd betwixt nets, to bring thy death to pass?
Bird, if thou art so much for dazzling light,
Look, there's the sun above thee; dart upright;
Thy nature is to soar up to the sky,
Why wilt thou come down to the nets and die?
Take no heed to the fowler's tempting call;
This whistle, he enchanteth birds withal.
Or if thou see'st a live bird in his net,
Believe she's there, 'cause hence she cannot get.
Look how he tempteth thee with is decoy,
That he may rob thee of thy life, thy joy.
Come, pr'ythee bird, I pr'ythee come away,
Why should this net thee take, when 'scape thou may?
Hadst thou not wings, or were thy feathers pull'd,
Or wast thou blind, or fast asleep wer't lull'd,
The case would somewhat alter, but for thee,
Thy eyes are ope, and thou hast wings to flee.
Remember that thy song is in thy rise,
Not in thy fall; earth's not thy paradise.
Keep up aloft, then, let thy circuits be
Above, where birds from fowler's nets are free.

Comparison.

This fowler is an emblem of the devil,
His nets and whistle, figures of all evil.
His glass an emblem is of sinful pleasure,
And his decoy of who counts sin a treasure.
This simple lark's a shadow of a saint,
Under allurings, ready now to faint.
This admonisher a true teacher is,
Whose works to show the soul the snare and bliss,
And how it may this fowler's net escape,
And not commit upon itself this rape.

poem by John Bunyan
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Lighter birds can Soar high, Heavier can only Run on Legs!

Life itself is that eternal bird,
building the nest of clay,
When safety becomes its priority,
Closes windows and doors,
Only to feel itself in darkness,
depriving itself of fresh air!

Smaller and narrow will be its nest,
Where in, It can sing in darkness,
The song of its pain heard by no one!

Learning leads to plan its home,
With wider doors and windows,
Open to light and fresh air,
Its happy song liked by all,
Little heart full of love,
Wider than world as world feels,
Still the bird want more light,
Leaving the nest,
flying long and wide,
Wide will be its vission,
Wide will be space its eyes can see,
Great view of world makes it happy,
Only happy bird can sing melody,
The eternal tune of wisdom,
evergreen song that every life wants to sing!

Deep into space it can see,
Vision beyond galaxies,
nay, vission beyond narrow boundaries of human heart,
The bird's eye surely full of visions,
Free of views and thoughts,
heart has only one religion,
'soar as high as possible,
Less weight of sorrows,
less light of opinions,
Higher it can soar, ,
With lighter and efficient heart,
lighter, yet efficient
Heart,
Embedded in Lighter skeleton,
Less weight of head,
Strong heart make the flight easy,
Heavier the skeleton,
Inefficient heart,
Can only make the bird flightless,
It can only run on legs away from truth,
Never can fly, how can it soar high?

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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