Far In a Western Brookland
Far in a western brookland
That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
By pools I used to know.
There, in the windless night-time,
The wanderer, marvelling why,
Halts on the bridge to hearken
How soft the poplars sigh.
He hears: no more remembered
In fields where I was known,
Here I lie down in London
And turn to rest alone.
There, by the starlit fences,
The wanderer halts and hears
My soul that lingers sighing
About the glimmering weirs.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Winter Wanderer
Walking stealthily,
Meowing steadily
The winter wanderer.
He is no hunter, man nor beast,
But cat, the greatest of them all,
The winter wanderer.
This feline beast
Relies on man
To feed and comfort him,
The winter wanderer.
He came to us
One frosty night,
That winter wanderer.
poem by Charlotte Pinkney
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In France
The poplars in the fields of France
Are golden ladies come to dance;
But yet to see them there is none
But I and the September sun.
The girl who in their shadow sits
Can only see the sock she knits;
Her dog is watching all the day
That not a cow shall go astray.
The leisurely contented cows
Can only see the earth they browse;
Their piebald bodies through the grass
With busy, munching noses pass.
Alone the sun and I behold
Processions crowned with shining gold --
The poplars in the fields of France,
Like glorious ladies come to dance.
poem by Barry Cornwall
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In France
The poplars in the fields of France
Are golden ladies come to dance ;
But yet to see them there is none
But I and the September sun.
The girl who in their shadow sits
Can only see the sock she knits ;
Her dog is watching all the day
That not a cow shall go astray.
The leisurely contented cows
Can only see the earth they browse ;
Their piebald bodies through the grass
With busy, munching noses pass.
Alone the sun and I behold
Processions crowned with shining gold
The poplars in the fields of France,
Like glorious ladies come to dance.
poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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The Wanderer
Oh well Im the type of guy who will never settle down
Where pretty girls are well, you know that Im around
I kiss em and I loveem cause to me theyre all the same
I hug em and I squeeze em they dont even know my name
They call me the wanderer yeah the wanderer
I roam around around around...
Oh well theres flo on my left and theres mary on my right
And janie is the girl with that Ill be with tonight
And when she asks me which one I love the best
I tear open my shirt I got rosie on my chest
cause Im the wanderer yeah the wanderer
I roam around around around...
Oh well I roam from town to town
I go through life without a care
til Im as happy as a clown
With my two fists of iron and Im going nowhere
Im the type of guy that likes to roam around
Im never in one place I roam from town to town
And when I find myself a-fallin for some girl
I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world
Yeah Im the wanderer yeah the wanderer
I roam around around around...
Oh yeah Im the type of guy that likes to roam around
Im never in one place I roam from town to town
And when I find myself a-fallin for some girl
I hop right into that car of mine and ride around the world
Yeah cause Im a wanderer yeah a wanderer
I roam around around around...
cause Im a wanderer yeah a wanderer
I roam around around around...
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: On seeing Miss Helen Maria Williams weep at a tale of distress
She wept.--Life's purple tide began to flow
In languid streams through every thrilling vein;
Dim were my swimming eyes--my pulse beat slow,
And my full heart was swell'd to dear delicious pain.
Life left my loaded heart, and closing eye;
A sigh recall'd the wanderer to my breast;
Dear was the pause of life, and dear the sigh
That call'd the wanderer home, and home to rest.
That tear proclaims--in thee each virtue dwells,
And bright will shine in misery's midnight hour;
As the soft star of dewy evening tells
What radiant fires were drown'd by day's malignant pow'r,
That only wait the darkness of the night
To cheer the wand'ring wretch with hospitable light.
poem by William Wordsworth
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For Osip Mandelstam
And the town is frozen solid in a vice,
Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass.
Over crystal, on slippery tracks of ice,
the painted sleighs and I, together, pass.
And over St Peter’s there are poplars, crows
there’s a pale green dome there that glows,
dim in the sun-shrouded dust.
The field of heroes lingers in my thought,
Kulikovo’s barbarian battleground.
The frozen poplars, like glasses for a toast,
clash now, more noisily, overhead.
As though it was our wedding, and the crowd
were drinking to our health and happiness.
But Fear and the Muse take turns to guard
the room where the exiled poet is banished,
and the night, marching at full pace,
of the coming dawn, has no knowledge.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
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Metric Figure
There is a bird in the poplars!
It is the sun!
The leaves are little yellow fish
swimming in the river.
The bird skims above them,
day is on his wings.
Phoebus!
It is he that is making
the great gleam among the poplars!
It is his singing
outshines the noise
of leaves clashing in the wind.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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My Lady Of Castle Grand
Gray is the palace where she dwells,
Grimly the poplars stand
There by the window where she sits,
My Lady of Castle Grand.
There does she bide the livelong day,
Grim as the poplars are,
Ever her gaze goes reaching out,
Steady, but vague and far.
Bright burn the fires in the castle hall,
Brightly the fire-dogs stand;
But cold is the body and cold the heart
Of my Lady of Castle Grand.
Blue are the veins in her lily-white hands,
Blue are the veins in her brow;
Thin is the line of her blue drawn lips,
Who would be haughty now?
Pale is the face at the window-pane,
Pale as the pearl on her breast,
'Roderick, love, wilt come again?
Fares he to east or west?'
The shepherd pipes to the shepherdess,
The bird to his mate in the tree,
And ever she sighs as she hears their song,
'Nobody sings for me.'
The scullery maids have swains enow
Who lead them the way of love,
But lonely and loveless their mistress sits
At her window up above.
Loveless and lonely she waits and waits,
The saddest in all the land;
Ah, cruel and lasting is love-blind pride,
My Lady of Castle Grand.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Wil-O-the-Wisp
Enchanted Wil-O-The Wisp Wanderer
You cannot escape his sea-blue
Eyes View
For set in water they are
Upon this beautiful form
Of You
Cladden In White Chantilly Lace
A flowing gown of floral crochet
But somewhat sheer in certain light
Seen in his eye near the bay
You walk along the sands O' time
Upon the shorelines
Passing Scene
O' enchanted Wil-O-The-Wisp Wanderer
You are the woman of his dreams
His sea of blue eyes come calling
Beckoning you away from the shore
Perhaps, anew, A Mermaid borne
And a Wil -O- The- Wisp Wanderer
No More
poem by Theodora Onken
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When we sing everybody hears us; when we sigh, nobody hears us.
Moon Shining Over The London Bridge
The sky is dark now
And the night is here again
But there is a moon shining over the London Bridge right over the sky
And I keep watching that moon while I rest for a while at the Thames River
But I can't take my eyes of the moon that is shining over the London Bridge right over the sky because it is beautiful to see
And at the same time it is getting late now but I don't mind at all because I Rather stay all night at The Thames river watching the moon shining over The London Bridge right over the sky
Yes the Big Ben chined midnight now and London is going to sleep
But I am falling asleep now at The Thames river below the naked three That is there at the Thanes River
Also all the buildings near The Thames river have their lights out
And I am sleeping in totall darkness and at the same time enjoying the Peace and quiet of the Thames river during the night
But near the Thames River is always cold and I don't mind at all Because I am dressed for this kind of weather
But this night at the Thames River I will always remember because it Will be the best sleep I ever had in years
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Children Of The Night
Who hears the screams
of the children of the night
Who pays the price
For their plight
A life full of lies
To keep
Their nightmares quiet
Who will help
The children
Before it's too late
Who hears
Their whispered cries
As they become adults
and heroin becomes their light
Who hears the screams
of the children of the night
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Faithful
Plaque on the wall says that no ones slept here
Its rare to come upon a bridge that has not been around
Or been stepped on
Whatever the notions, we laced in our prayers
The man upstairs is used to all of this noise
Im through with screaming
And echoes nobody hears, it goes, it goes, it goes
Like echoes nobody hears, it goes, it goes, it goes
Were faithful, we all believe, we all believe it {4x}
And echoes nobody hears, it goes, it goes, it goes {2x}
Were faithful, we all believe, we all believe it {3x}
So faithful, we all believe, we all believe it
M.y.t.h. is
Belief in the game controls that keeps us in a box of fear
We never listen
Voice inside so drowned out
Drowned you are, you are, you are a furry thing
And everything is you
Me you, you me, its all related
Whats a boy to do?
Just be darling and I will be too
Faithful to you
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Light on the Wreck
Out there by the rocks, at the end of the bank,
In the mouth of the river, the Wanderer sank.
She is resting where meet the blue water and green,
And only her masts and her funnel are seen;
And you see, when is fading the sunset’s last fleck,
On her foremast a lantern—a light on a wreck.
’Tis a light on a wreck, warning ships to beware
Of the drowned iron hull of the Wanderer there;
And the ships that come in and go out in the night
Keep a careful lookout for the Wanderer’s light.
There are rules for the harbour and rules for the wave;
But all captains steer clear of the Wanderer’s grave.
And the stories of strong lives that ended in wrecks
Might be likened to lights over derelict decks;
Like the light where, in sight of the streets of the town,
In the mouth of the channel the Wanderer went down.
Keep a watch from the desk, as they watch from the deck;
Keep a watch from your home for the light on the wreck.
But the lights on the wrecks since creation began
Have been shining in vain for the vagabond clan.
They will never take warning, they will not beware,
For they hold for their mottoes ‘What matter?’ ‘What care?’
And they sail without compass, they sail without check,
Till they steer to their grave ’neath a light on a wreck.
poem by Henry Lawson
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And if... [Şi dacă...]
And if the poplars do not sleep
And scratch my window blind
It is because I want to keep
Your pretty face in mind.
And if the stars shine in the lake
And make its bottom bright
It is because, for old time's sake,
I need to see the light.
And if the clouds run from the sky
And leave the moon up there
It is because I'll always sigh
For you in my despair.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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My Questioner
My hill is mounted by the breeze and myself,
Thirst is my objection, hunger is my complaint;
Food has argued with me beautifully,
Drink has kept me in sorrow and grief and music.
The love of life enters the grass on the summit,
Where I stand and face my lord,
Whom I must answer to right now, right here.
This fantasy finds me in a relaxed position,
The hills give noise and I am the wanderer
Who hears the voice of a spiritual temper,
The voice so loved by the generations
And the one they call to when in a state of divinity.
I hear this spring of water on the hilltop,
And I feel the gushing freshness of my questioner.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Green Leaves and Sere
Three tall poplars beside the pool
Shiver and moan in the gusty blast,
The carded clouds are blown like wool,
And the yellowing leaves fly thick and fast.
The leaves, now driven before the blast,
Now flung by fits on the curdling pool,
Are tossed heaven-high and dropped at last
As if at the whim of a jabbering fool.
O leaves, once rustling green and cool!
Two met here where one moans aghast
With wild heart heaving towards the past:
Three tall poplars beside the pool.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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A song must move the story ahead. A song must take the place of dialogue. If a song halts the show, pushes it back, stalls it, the audience won't buy it; they'll be unhappy.
quote by Dorothy Fields
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wanderer
I am a wanderer
with a girl in every town,
each think they own my heart,
but none of them do.
My heart belongs to someone
I have yet to meet,
but I know that I will know them,
when one day I pass them on the street.
Their love will tame
this wanderer down
and that is when
my roving days will be through.
Until that day comes along,
I will be a wander
with a girl in every town.
poem by David Harris
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London
It was november 4th
I last held your hand
It seemed our time would last forever
You said dont ever leave
I thought youd never go
I wish I could just remember your name...
Youre just a memory now
Like all the ones before
But with your pain Ive had to suffer
Your eyes alight with flame
As the picture burns
I hear the screams from long ago
They cry remember, blood-red streaks on
Velvet throats at night
The streetlights fanned our trail of fame
Through
London london
The memories will never leave me
London london
All I see is you
London london
The cries in the night
Keep bringing me to
London london
Calling out to me
Oh theres some things in life I could never face
The worst is being alone
Sometimes I wish I could have taken your
Place my love
You know I dont want to live forever
Oh let me see you standing in the
Shadows once again
Well walk the streets like long ago in
London london
The fire in your eyes will be bringing me to
London london
All I need is you
The cries in the night keep ringing on in
London london
Calling out to you
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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