Shakespeare's Kingdom
When Shakespeare came to London
He met no shouting throngs;
He carried in his knapsack
A scroll of quiet songs.
No proud heraldic trumpet
Acclaimed him on his way;
Their court and camp have perished;
The songs live on for ay.
Nobody saw or heard them,
But, all around him there,
Spirits of light and music
Went treading the April air.
He passed like any pedlar,
Yet he had wealth untold.
The galleons of th' armada
Could not contain his gold.
The kings rode on to darkness.
In England's conquering hour,
Unseen arrived her splendour;
Unknown, her conquering power.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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The Great Reggae Music
The great reggae music
Written by Selvin ‘Ewan’ McRae
It’s the music of the kings
Comfort to the ears of the queens
Keeping the children jolly and merry
Not having any special season
Spiritual if you want it to be
Yet as cruel as the roaring sea
Have you marching as Jah soldier
Shouting peace and one love Rasta
All filled with words of uplifment
Giving wisdom for the fulfillment
Equal rights and justice plus enjoyments
So much pressure, on the head’s of governments
Have you exercising to stay in shape
Dancing to the drum and to the bass
Skanking your legs working the waist
Reggae music is so sweet to the ears
They say this music is like magic
Some say there is magic in the music
Feeling it in your heart and your soul
Reggae music can never grow old
Burning out all corruption and bad vibes
Calming the beast of the wild
Giving hope to the cripple or paralyzed
Reggae music got them trying to dance
I could go on for ever and ever and ever
And you will listen or read for longer
Allowing you to know yourself and others
Accepting and conquering each day for better
Worldwide listened, by every race and species
Populating the world, have you making babies
Pay tribute to bob Marley and the wailers
Reggae music is spreading like wild fire
Hitting you so hard yet you feel no pain
Like food to the belly so is it sweet to the brain
Some may think that this music is insane
But even though it is world acclaimed
When will they give it what it deserves?
This great music needs to be preserved
Is it because it is the songs of the slaves?
Well tell them they don’t have to be afraid
poem by Selvin Mcrae
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John Lennon and Ringo Starr liked my songs. I used to write songs and they heard me sing songs on stage in London.
quote by Ben Kingsley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Muisc Or Song?
No song
Only blaring music is heard
In the party!
Even the numbers
Of Michael Jackson beat music
Make fans dance!
More than songs
Only music is top most
In modern times!
Unlike some
Dean Martin or Louis Armstrong
Songs are not heard!
Celine Dion
Titanic song was moving
Heart to go on!
Old songs
Are replaced by fast music
Now for all!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Old Dutch Love Song
I am not rich, and yet my wealth
Surpasseth human measure;
My store untold
Is not of gold
Nor any sordid treasure.
Let this one hoard his earthly pelf,
Another court ambition--
Not for a throne
Would I disown
My poor and proud condition!
The worldly gain achieved to-day
To-morrow may be flying--
The gifts of kings
Are fleeting things--
The gifts of love undying!
In her I love is all my wealth--
For her my sole endeavor;
No heart, I ween,
Hath fairer queen,
No liege such homage, ever!
poem by Eugene Field
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Song of Wrongs
Some songs are trapped, while other songs are free
Some songs can linger, while others need a key
Some songs look Heavenward to find a place to be
While most songs have homes, some songs aren't so lucky
Which song would you rather hear
The song of hope, or the song of fear
The song that has everything, or the song that needs care
The song you care nothing for, or the song you revere
I'd like to listen to all of those forgotten songs
Not the song of rights, I want the song of wrongs
I want the song of solitude hiding in the throngs
I want the song that has no place to which it belongs
poem by Bianca Free
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Thank You For The Music
Im nothing special, in fact Im a bit of a bore
If I tell a joke, youve probably heard it before
But I have a talent, a wonderful thing
cause everyone listens when I start to sing
Im so grateful and proud
All I want is to sing it out loud
So I say
Thank you for the music, the songs Im singing
Thanks for all the joy theyre bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me
Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk
She says I began to sing long before I could talk
And Ive often wondered, how did it all start?
Who found out that nothing can capture a heart
Like a melody can?
Well, whoever it was, Im a fan
So I say
Thank you for the music, the songs Im singing
Thanks for all the joy theyre bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me
Ive been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair
I wanna sing it out to everybody
What a joy, what a life, what a chance!
So I say
Thank you for the music, the songs Im singing
Thanks for all the joy theyre bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty
What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me
song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only after conquering desires
Only after conquering desires
You can declare nothing is world
And the world is nothing
And nothingness means
Nothingness is woman to ascetic
Nothingness is life to warrior
And with truth I do not want
To go to heaven
Only after conquering desires
Only after conquering desires.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Conquering others takes force, conquering yourself is true strength.
O Black And Unknown Bards
O black and unknown bards of long ago,
How came your lips to touch the sacred fire?
How, in your darkness, did you come to know
The power and beauty of the minstrel's lyre?
Who first from midst his bonds lifted his eyes?
Who first from out the still watch, lone and long,
Feeling the ancient faith of prophets rise
Within his dark-kept soul, burst into song?
Heart of what slave poured out such melody
As 'Steal away to Jesus'? On its strains
His spirit must have nightly floated free,
Though still about his hands he felt his chains.
Who heard great 'Jordan roll'? Whose starward eye
Saw chariot 'swing low'? And who was he
That breathed that comforting, melodic sigh,
'Nobody knows de trouble I see'?
What merely living clod, what captive thing,
Could up toward God through all its darkness grope,
And find within its deadened heart to sing
These songs of sorrow, love and faith, and hope?
How did it catch that subtle undertone,
That note in music heard not with the ears?
How sound the elusive reed so seldom blown,
Which stirs the soul or melts the heart to tears.
Not that great German master in his dream
Of harmonies that thundered amongst the stars
At the creation, ever heard a theme
Nobler than 'Go down, Moses.' Mark its bars
How like a mighty trumpet-call they stir
The blood. Such are the notes that men have sung
Going to valorous deeds; such tones there were
That helped make history when Time was young.
There is a wide, wide wonder in it all,
That from degraded rest and servile toil
The fiery spirit of the seer should call
These simple children of the sun and soil.
O black slave singers, gone, forgot, unfamed,
You - you alone, of all the long, long line
Of those who've sung untaught, unknown, unnamed,
Have stretched out upward, seeking the divine.
You sang not deeds of heroes or of kings;
No chant of bloody war, no exulting pean
Of arms-won triumphs; but your humble strings
You touched in chord with music empyrean.
You sting far better than you knew; the songs
That for your listeners' hungry hearts sufficed
Still live, - but more than this to you belongs:
You sang a race from wood and stone to Christ.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Dreams
I HAVE been dreaming all a summer day
Of rare and dainty poems I would write;
Love-lyrics delicate as lilac-scent,
Soft idylls woven of wind, and flower, and stream,
And songs and sonnets carven in fine gold.
The day is fading and the dusk is cold;
Out of the skies has gone the opal gleam,
Out of my heart has passed the high intent
Into the shadow of the falling night—
Must all my dreams in darkness pass away?
I have been dreaming all a summer day:
Shall I go dreaming so until Life’s light
Fades in Death’s dusk, and all my days are spent?
Ah, what am I the dreamer but a dream!
The day is fading and the dusk is cold.
My songs and sonnets carven in fine gold
Have faded from me with the last day -beam
That purple lustre to the sea-line lent,
And flushed the clouds with rose and chrysolite;
So days and dreams in darkness pass away.
I have been dreaming all a summer day
Of songs and sonnets carven in fine gold;
But all my dreams in darkness pass away;
The day is fading, and the dusk is cold.
poem by Victor James Daley
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In Operation
Soldiers are in operation, all-through,
Like a war so bound to disbelieve in wars.
Unmistakable are the immaculate generals
To thinkers and to philosophers and guests.
Agree to them whilst your stay on this world
Is conquering the animals and workmen.
The figure is an impressive poison for the purpose
Of war and battles raging in History.
Bless the serenity, the absolute creation of will-power,
Blessing us as well, forming collisions
And afterwards there are mountains to climb.
Drifting is a soldier, drifting is a war
So conquering you, and the whole light of the world.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Old Song
A livid sky on London
And like the iron steeds that rear
A shock of engines halted
And I knew the end was near:
And something said that far away, over the hills and far away
There came a crawling thunder and the end of all things here.
For London Bridge is broken down, broken down, broken down,
As digging lets the daylight on the suken streets of yore,
The lightning looked on London town, the broken bridge of London town.
The ending of a broken road where men shall go no more.
I saw the kings of London town,
The kings that buy and sell,
That built it up with penny loaves
And penny lies as well:
And where the streets were paved with gold the shrivelled paper shone for gold,
The scorching light of promises that pave the streets of hell.
For penny loaves will melt away, melt away, melt away,
Mock the men that haggled in the grain they did not grow;
With hungry faces in the gate, a hundred thousand in the gate,
A thunder-flash on London and the finding of the foe.
I heard the hundred pin-makers
Slow down their racking din,
Till in the stillness men could hear
The dropping of the pin:
And somewhere men without the wall, beneath the wood, without the wall,
Had found the place where London ends and England can begin.
For pins and needles bend and break, bend and break, bend and break,
Faster than the breaking spears or the bending of the bow,
Of pagents pale in thunder-light, 'twixt thunderload and thunderlight,
The Hundreds marching on the hills in the wars of long ago.
I saw great Cobbett riding,
The horseman of the shires;
And his face was red with judgement
And a light of Luddite fires:
And south to Sussex and the sea the lights leapt up for liberty,
The trumpet of the yeomanry, the hammer of the squires;
For bars of iron rust away, rust away, rust away,
Rend before the hammer and the horseman riding in,
Crying that all men at the last, and at the worst and at the last,
Have found the place where England ends and England can begin.
His horse-hoofs go before you
Far beyond your bursting tyres;
And time is bridged behind him
And our sons are with our sires.
A trailing meteor on the Downs he rides above the rotting towns,
The Horseman of Apocalypse, the Rider of the Shires.
For London Bridge is broken down, broken down, broken down;
Blow the horn of Huntington from Scotland to the sea -
...Only flash of thunder-light, a flying dream of thunder-light,
Had shown under the shattered sky a people that were free.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Old Song
A livid sky on London
And like the iron steeds that rear
A shock of engines halted
And I knew the end was near:
And something said that far away, over the hills and far away
There came a crawling thunder and the end of all things here.
For London Bridge is broken down, broken down, broken down,
As digging lets the daylight on the suken streets of yore,
The lightning looked on London town, the broken bridge of London
town.
The ending of a broken road where men shall go no more.
I saw the kings of London town,
The kings that buy and sell,
That built it up with penny loaves
And penny lies as well:
And where the streets were paved with gold the shrivelled paper
shone for gold,
The scorching light of promises that pave the streets of hell.
For penny loaves will melt away, melt away, melt away,
Mock the men that haggled in the grain they did not grow;
With hungry faces in the gate, a hundred thousand in the gate,
A thunder-flash on London and the finding of the foe.
I heard the hundred pin-makers
Slow down their racking din,
Till in the stillness men could hear
The dropping of the pin:
And somewhere men without the wall, beneath the wood, without
the wall,
Had found the place where London ends and England can begin.
For pins and needles bend and break, bend and break, bend and break,
Faster than the breaking spears or the bending of the bow,
Of pagents pale in thunder-light, 'twixt thunderload and thunderlight,
The Hundreds marching on the hills in the wars of long ago.
I saw great Cobbett riding,
The horseman of the shires;
And his face was red with judgement
And a light of Luddite fires:
And south to Sussex and the sea the lights leapt up for liberty,
The trumpet of the yeomanry, the hammer of the squires;
For bars of iron rust away, rust away, rust away,
Rend before the hammer and the horseman riding in,
Crying that all men at the last, and at the worst and at the last,
Have found the place where England ends and England can begin.
His horse-hoofs go before you
Far beyond your bursting tyres;
And time is bridged behind him
And our sons are with our sires.
A trailing meteor on the Downs he rides above the rotting towns,
The Horseman of Apocalypse, the Rider of the Shires.
For London Bridge is broken down, broken down, broken down;
Blow the horn of Huntington from Scotland to the sea --
...Only flash of thunder-light, a flying dream of thunder-light,
Had shown under the shattered sky a people that were free.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Dusty Springfield
The music of the Dusty Springfield still lives on,
Even though she, herself, is now dead and gone.
Every day, her songs are played on the airwaves.
About her music, many people still really rave.
When I hear her songs played on the radio,
Deep in my heart, I feel a really warm glow.
To her talent, many artistes still pay tribute.
Many a singer, her style of song, does suit.
She had massive hit after hit over her many years:
The sentiments, of which, still bring me to tears.
If she were still alive today, I think she’d be amazed,
How popular she still is and how much her songs are played.
She was just a normal, ordinary, middle class girl,
Who became one of popular music’s precious pearls.
She never let fame and fortune go to her head.
She chose to remain friendly and down to earth instead.
Her songs are ones which you can sing along to,
And you experience such a feeling of joy when you do.
There are a few songs, for which she’s very well-known,
And, in the world of music, these are set firmly in stone.
One of her most famous songs has to be,
‘You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me.’
‘I Only Want To Be With You’ and ‘Son Of A Preacher Man, ’
Are also really firm favourites amongst her many fans.
When on stage, she really gave it her all,
And always appeared to be having a right ball.
She had a real presence whenever on stage,
And with her audience, she really engaged.
She battled serious illness. She was so very brave,
And over ten years on, her fans still visit her grave.
Whether the day brings bright sunshine or showers,
Fans still make their pilgrimage to bring her flowers.
On ‘Dusty Day’, once a year, her fans come together.
In our hearts, she and her music will live on forever.
An entire day is dedicated to the precious memories of her,
And fans recollections of Dusty, once again, are stirred.
Many of her songs are famous world wide,
And when she passed away, many fans cried.
Her music unites fans from across every nation.
She really was a special lady and a real inspiration.
For her iconic style, she was very well-known -
A style which was exclusively hers and hers alone.
Her songs are still as popular today,
As the day she sadly passed away.
She died at the age of fifty nine, so never reached old age.
I wonder if she was alive today, she would still be on stage?
Since she passed away, over ten years have gone by,
But memories of her live on and will never ever die.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Songs Of....
This song was first released on the john denver album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Songs of the future
Songs of the past
Songs of the first day
Songs of the last
Songs of tomorrow
Songs of the play
Songs of the struggle
Songs of the way
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Write The Songs
Ive been alive forever,
And I wrote the very first song.
I put the words and the melodies together,
I am music,
And I write the songs.
I write the songs that make the whole world sing.
I write the songs of love and special thing s.
I write the songs that make the young girls cry.
I write the songs, I write the songs.
My home lies deep within you,
And Ive got my own place in your sole.
Now, when I look out through your eyes,
Im youg again, even though Im very old.
Chorus
Oh my music makes you dance
And gives your spirit to take a chance,
And I wrote some rock n roll so you can move.
Music fills your heart,
Well, thats a real fine place to start.
Its from me its for you,
Its from you, its from me,
Its a world wide symphony.
Chorus
I am music, and I write the songs.
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Proud Ness
Songs are there, popular for lyrics
With writers unknown and popular
For music with the composers unknown.
I, a dwarf, am proud of my products.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sir Richard's Song
(A. D. 1066)
I followed my Duke ere I was a lover,
To take from England fief and fee;
But now this game is the other way over--
But now England hath taken me!
I had my horse, my shield and banner,
And a boy's heart, so whole and free;
But now I sing in another manner--
But now England hath taken me!
As for my Father in his tower,
Asking news of my ship at sea,
He will remember his own hour--
Tell him England hath taken me!
As for my Mother in her bower,
That rules my Father so cunningly,
She will remember a maiden's power--
Tell her England hath taken me!
As for my Brother in Rouen City,
A nimble and naughty' page is he,
But he will come to suffer and pity--
Tell him England hath taken me!
As for my little Sister waiting
In the pleasant orchards of Normandie,
Tell her youth is the time for mating--
Tell her England hath taken me!
As for my comrades in camp and highway
That lift their eyebrows scornfully,
Tell them their way is not my way--
Tell them England hath taken me!
Kings and Princes and Barons famed,
Knights and Captains in your degree;
Hear me a little before I am blamed--
Seeing England hath taken me!
Howso great man's strength be reckoned,
There are two things he cannot flee.
Love is the first, and Death is the second-
And Love in England hath taken me!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Down To London
Stop - whats that sound
Its the death rattle of this rusty old town
Stop - listen again
Its the sound of laughter all along the thames
Hey - whats my line
Do I have to stay here til the end of time
Im - good lookin and bright
I wanna see life after ten at night
So if they ask you where I am
Im in the back of a transit van
In a squat on the earls court road
Gone down to london turning coal into gold
Down to london - down to london
Gone down to london to be the king
Hey - whats your name
The boys back home all seem to look the same
You - should stick with me
And one of us will make it, just you see
Stop - whats that sound
Seems like the sixties are still swingin around
Hey - can you hear me back there
Or is there anybody left to care
So if you ask me where they are
Theyre hanging tough in a soho bar
Playing guitars in the underground
Gone down to london tryin to chase that sound
Down to london - down to london
Gone down to london to be the king
So I ask you should I cry or laugh
Drinking tea in a kings cross caff
A leather jacket against the cold
Gone down to london turning coal into gold
Down to london - down to london
Gone down to london to be the king
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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