En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The skylark should not bark. It should either sing or keep silent.

aphorism by Valeriu Butulescu from Immensity of the Point, translated by Eva A. Ziem
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Skylark

The earth was green, the sky was blue:
I saw and heard one sunny morn,
A skylark hang between the two,
A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord,
White butterflies danced on the wing,
And still the singing skylark soared,
And silent sank and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green
To right and left beside my walks;
I knew he had a nest unseen
Somewhere among the million stalks:

And as I paused to hear his song,
While swift the sunny moments slid,
Perhaps his mate sat listening long,
And listened longer than I did.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Green Cornfield

The earth was green, the sky was blue:
I saw and heard one sunny morn
A skylark hang betweent he two,
A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord,
White butterflies danced on the wing,
And still the singing skylark soared,
And silent sank and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green
To right and left beside my walks;
I knew he had a nest unseen
Somewhere among the million stalks.

And as I paused to hear his song
While swift the sunny moments slid,
Perhaps his mate sat listening long,
And listened longer than I did.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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My dogs

bark at the neighbors,
bark at the UPS man,
bark at cars
and kids on bicycles.

they bark at the television,
the radio
and the stereo.

they bark at
the vacuum cleaner,
the dust mop
and the broom.

they bark at
anyone
who enters the house
uninvited.

and
when they’re not barking,
they’re sitting there
waiting
for something
to bark at.

good dogs.

poem by John Yamrus
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Skylark

Skylark
Have you anything to say to me?
Wont you tell me where my love can be?
Is there a meadow in the mist
Where someones waiting to be kissed?
Oh skylark
Have you seen a valley green with spring?
Where my heart can go a journeying
Over the shadows and the rain
To a blossom covered lane
And in your lonely flight
Havent you heard the music in the night?
Wonderful music
Faint as a will o the wisp
Crazy as a loon
Sad as a gypsty serenading the moon
Oh skylark
I dont know if you can find these things
But my heart is riding on your wings
So if you see them anywhere
Wont you lead me there
Oh skylark
Wont you lead me there?

song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inspiration

I am watching a skylark

flying skyward.

It's famous for its song.

I am sitting here, on the top of a wall, and

thinking........

What is my actual liking?

I have spent too much time with my colleagues.

I have had my periods with relatives.

I like very much some of them.

But, Alas! I am still the same.

Whatsoever, now, I am watching a tiller.

He spends his time to make us survivor (in this world) .

Many poets have supplicated prayer to God for them

as they are the bearer of living-flow.

But, I am not a tiller.

I want to do something similler.

I will do the second thing

which is needful for a human being.

I will teach the glorious and heavenly lesson to mankind.

Thus, I may become like the skylark, and then

I would fly thoughtlessly and hourly like the skylark.

poem by Bibhakar Dutta
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Songs In Sleep

If I could frame for you in cunning words
The songs my heart in sleep is often singing,
You'd fancy, love, an orquestra of birds
Upon their quivering throats the dawn were bringing.

Now in some wild, weird flush of melody
I'd feign the skylark, with his music sifting
The final films of nightshade from the lea,
And all the waking world to heaven uplifting.

Then, ere the lengthening liquid solo went--
In skylark fashion--out of hearing o'er us,
I'd mock with skill, as sweet as my intent,
Thrustle and blackbird coming in for chorus.

There's not a strain of joy the birds could sing,
I could not set to words that I've been dreaming;
But when I wake, alas! they all take wing,
And leave of music but the empty seeming.

Believe me, love, I sing to you, in sleep,
Songs that if voiced would waken you to pleasure;
Would you could hear them in your dreams, and keep
Their inner meaning, though you missed the measure.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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On how to sing

On how to sing
the frog school and the skylark school
are arguing.

poem by Masaoka Shiki
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The Skylark Sing Above The Mountain

The skylark sing above the mountain brow
And robin piping on the leafy bough
And lush green meads scent of the blooms of May
And it's Spring in a green Land far away.

I feel homesick at this time every year
I close my eyes the dunnock's voice i hear
In leafy grove the chaffinch chirp and sing
It would be nice to be home for the Spring.

It would be nice to go back home right now
When there is so much beauty to be seen
The birds are singing, wildflowers everywhere
And woods and valleys wear their richest green.

The currawongs are down from higher hills
I hear them calling on the tall gum trees
And morning air has breath of Winter chill
Whilst it's Spring in Ireland far beyond the seas.

If i had enough money i would go back home
If only for a month or even two
Enjoy the Spring, enjoy the peace and quiet
And do the things that i most like to do.

The skylark sing above the mountain brow
And robin piping on the leafy bough
And lush green meads scent of the blooms of May
And it's Spring in a green Land far away.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Stringy-Bark Tree

There's the whitebox and pine on the ridges afar,
Where the iron-bark, blue-gum, and peppermint are;
There is many another, but dearest to me,
And the king of them all was the stringy-bark tree.
Then of stringy-bark slabs were the walls of the hut,
And from stringy-bark saplings the rafters were cut;
And the roof that long sheltered my brothers and me
Was of broad sheets of bark from the stringy-bark tree.

And when sawn-timber homes were built out in the West,
Then for walls and for ceilings its wood was the best;
And for shingles and palings to last while men be,
There was nothing on earth like the stringy-bark tree.

Far up the long gullies the timber-trucks went,
Over tracks that seemed hopeless, by bark hut and tent;
And the gaunt timber-finder, who rode at his ease,
Led them on to a gully of stringy-bark trees.

Now still from the ridges, by ways that are dark,
Come the shingles and palings they call stringy-bark;
Though you ride through long gullies a twelve months you’ll see
But the old whitened stumps of the stringy-bark tree.

poem by Henry Lawson
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I fancy I Can See You Old Duhallow

I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
The swallows o'er your fields wing to and fro
And cows from wintering houses out on pasture
And birds are whistling on the green hedgerow.

I lay upon the bracken slopes of Clara
I see the Kerry hills beyond Rathmore
A skylark sing above the silent mountain
His song bring back to me the joys of yore.

You wear your green cloak of the Spring Duhallow
And your beauty from the mountain side I see
From Millstreet to Kanturk on towards Newmarket
Kiskeam to Cullen and up to Knocknagree.

I often think about you green Duhallow
You were the first great love I ever knew
But many others loved you better than I
And they feel quite content to live with you.

I fancy I can see you old Duhallow
In your green groves the wild birds nest and sing
And swallows fly above your fields and meadows
And cuckoo pipes his fanfare of the Spring.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Silent

Silent when I have nothing to say.
Silent just to avoid the fray.

Silent when I am not sure.
Silent—I can't stand anymore.

Silent when you make me mad.
Silent I am when times are sad.

Silent when I am too shy.
Silent when I want to cry.

Silent as I carry life's load.
Silent... I may soon explode.

poem by Shaqueena Celestin
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Three Things to Remember

A Robin Redbreast in a cage,
Puts all Heaven in a rage.

A skylark wounded on the wing
Doth make a cherub cease to sing.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.

poem by William Blake
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Skylark

She flies through cobalt colored skies
Filtered with sunlit colored rays

When she soars
Hearts also soar

Free spirit on the wing
With a song so sweet to sing

In a forested evening shade
With odors of fall and her song in the glade

Softly the forest children appear
To see skylark not on the wing

But yet with a beautiful song
So sweet to sing.

poem by John Shea
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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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Bird Raptures

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come darkness, moonrise, everything
That is so silent, sweet, and pale,
Come, so ye wake the nightingale.

Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon,
Make haste to wake the nightingale:
Let silence set the world in tune
To hearken to that wordless tale
Which warbles from the nightingale.

O herald skylark, stay thy flight
One moment, for a nightingale
Floods us with sorrow and delight.
To-morrow thou shalt hoist the sail;
Leave us tonight the nightingale.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sing My Love

Sing to me my little flower
Sing me the songs of tenderness and love
Sing to me as you stare
Into this intricate and beautiful creation
Alone yet not alone
Comforted by the silent tingle of love
Flowing through my immensely proud hands
Sing to me my precious flower
Sing though you have yet to grasps the art of speaking
Sing to me my love
For soon I shall retire
Sing to me my precious flower
Sing me the songs of tenderness and love

poem by Mustafa Marconi
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From a silent man, and a dog that does not bark, deliver us.

Spanish proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Springtime

The red eyes of rabbits
aren't sad. No one passes
the sad golden village in a barge
any more. The sunset
will leave it alone. If the
curtains hang askew
it is no one's fault.
Around and around and around
everywhere the same sound
of wheels going, and things
growing older, growing
silent. If the dogs
bark to each other
all night, and their eyes
flash red, that's
nobody's business. They have
a great space of dark to
bark across. The rabbits
will bare their teeth at
the spring moon.

poem by Denise Levertov
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Nightingale’s Song

A delegation of birds petitioned God

“Why is it you never chastise the nightingale? ”

God bid nightingale to speak;

“My way, she explained is different
March to June I sing
The other nine months, while others
Continue chirping, I am silent”

Sing your sweet songs beloved
While your Brethren clatter about
But know when to be silent...
That God may speak to you

(Inspired by Rumi)

ROTMS

poem by Ray Lucero
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Silent Talking

Does it matter if you broke this spell
So unreal is the future life along the way
They dare you
To turn around, it all comes through this feel.
It doesnt ring true.
Silent talking in the system, ringing to this beautiful world.
Silent talking, always dreaming, sing me to this beautiful world.
Silent talking in the system, ringing to this beautiful world.
Silent talking, always dreaming, sing me to this beautiful world.

song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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