En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Daylight is Dying

The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
In silence to rest;
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep,
They pass to its bondage—
The kingdom of sleep.
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height,
They rest in your keeping,
Oh, wonderful night.
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold,
’Tis then that the stories
Of bush-land are told.

Unnumbered I hold them
In memories bright,
But who could unfold them,
Or read them aright?
Beyond all denials
The stars in their glories
The breeze in the myalls
Are part of these stories.

The waving of grasses,
The song of the river
That sings as it passes
For ever and ever,
The hobble-chains’ rattle,
The calling of birds,
The lowing of cattle
Must blend with the words.

Without these, indeed, you
Would find it ere long,
As though I should read you
The words of a song
That lamely would linger
When lacking the rune,
The voice of the singer,
The lilt of the tune.

But, as one half-hearing
An old-time refrain,
With memory clearing,
Recalls it again,
These tales, roughly wrought of
The bush and its ways,
May call back a thought of
The wandering days,

And, blending with each
In the memories that throng,
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Daylight is Dying

The daylight is dying
Away in the west,
The wild birds are flying
in silence to rest;
In leafage and frondage
Where shadows are deep,
They pass to its bondage--
The kingdom of sleep
And watched in their sleeping
By stars in the height,
They rest in your keeping,
O wonderful night.
When night doth her glories
Of starshine unfold,
'Tis then that the stories
Of bush-land are told.

Unnumbered I told them
In memories bright,
But who could unfold them,
Or read them aright?
Beyond all denials
The stars in their glories,
The breeze in the myalls,
Are part of these stories.

The waving of grasses,
The song of the river
That sings as it passes
For ever and ever,
The hobble-chains' rattle,
The calling of birds,
The lowing of cattle
Must blend with the words.

Without these, indeed you
Would find it ere long,
As though I should read you
The words of a song
That lamely would linger
When lacking the rune,
The voice of a singer,
The lilt of the tune.

But as one halk-bearing
An old-time refrain,
With memory clearing,
Recalls it again,
These tales roughly wrought of
The Bush and its ways,
May call back a thought of
The wandering days;
And, blending with each
In the memories that throng
There haply shall reach
You some echo of song.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sacred to the Memory of “Unknown”

Oh, the wild black swans fly westward still,
While the sun goes down in glory—
And away o’er lonely plain and hill
Still runs the same old story:
The sheoaks sigh it all day long—
It is safe in the Big Scrub’s keeping—
’Tis the butcher-birds’ and the bell-birds’ song
In the gum where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping—
(It is heard in the chat of the soldier-birds
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping).
Ah! the Bushmen knew not his name or land,
Or the shame that had sent him here—
But the Bushmen knew by the dead man’s hand
That his past life lay not near.
The law of the land might have watched for him,
Or a sweetheart, wife, or mother;
But they bared their heads, and their eyes were dim,
For he might have been a brother!
(Ah! the death he died brought him near to them,
For he might have been a brother.)

Oh, the wild black swans to the westward fade,
And the sunset burns to ashes,
And three times bright on an eastern range
The light of a big star flashes,
Like a signal sent to a distant strand
Where a dead man’s love sits weeping.
And the night comes grand to the Great Lone Land
O’er the grave where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping,
And the big white stars in their clusters blaze
O’er the Bush where ‘Unknown’ lies sleeping.

poem by Henry Lawson
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A Noon Song

There are songs for the morning and songs for the night,
For sunrise and sunset, the stars and the moon;
But who will give praise to the fulness of light,
And sing us a song of the glory of noon?
Oh, the high noon, the clear noon,
The noon with golden crest;
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
With his face to the way of the west!

How swiftly he rose in the dawn of his strength;
How slowly he crept as the morning wore by;
Ah, steep was the climbing that led him at length
To the height of his throne in the wide summer sky.
Oh, the long toil, the slow toil,
The toil that may not rest,
Till the sun looks down from his journey's crown,
To the wonderful way of the west!

Then a quietness falls over meadow and hill,
The wings of the wind in the forest are furled,
The river runs softly, the birds are all still,
The workers are resting all over the world.
Oh, the good hour, the kind hour,
The hour that calms the breast!
Little inn half-way on the road of the day,
Where it follows the turn to the west!

There's a plentiful feast in the maple-tree shade,
The lilt of a song to an old-fashioned tune,
The talk of a friend, or the kiss of a maid,
To sweeten the cup that we drink to the noon.
Oh, the deep noon, the full noon,
Of all the day the best!
When the blue sky burns, and the great sun turns
To his home by the way of the west.

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Seeds with wings, between earth and sky

Seeds with wings, between earth and sky
Fluttering, flying;
Seeds of a lily with blood-red core
Breathing of myrrh and of giroflore:
Where winds drop them there must they lie,
Living or dying.

Some to the garden, some to the wall,
Fluttering, falling;
Some to the river, some to earth:
Those that reach the right soil get birth;
None of the rest have lived at all.—
Whose voice is calling:

'Here is soil for winged seeds that near,
Fluttering, fearing,
Where they shall root and burgeon and spread.
Lacking the heart-room the song lies dead:
Half is the song that reaches the ear,
Half is the hearing '?

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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After Drafting

NIGHT has fallen, night and darkness,
Night with star and planet splendid;
And the earth lies like a giant
Wrapt in sleep, with limbs extended.
Rest has stolen on the homestead,
On the long day's rush and riot,
And no sound of horse or rider
Breaks the soft and dewy quiet.
Yet, like heart-cries
After battle,
Comes the calling, ceaseless calling,
Of the dun and dappled cattle.
Sleep is sweet, and sweet is silence,
When the long day's work is over,
For the toiler and the moiler,
And the rider and the rover.
Not a breeze abroad at night-time
Sets the barley-grass aquiver,
And from dewfall on to sunrise
Sleeps the curlew by the river.
Yet no slumber
Anguish smothers;
Hark the calling, plaintive calling,
Of the robbed and stricken mothers!
Oh, how still are plain and river —
How all-sweet, how all-amazing!
By the stars' march night is numbered —
Rising, setting, zenith-blazing.
Peace has come upon the homestead;
Passed the long day's rush and riot;
Only from the drafted cattle
Comes a note of sad disquiet:
Dun and dappled,
Horned and poley —
They are lowing, lowly lowing,
With a helpless melancholy.

poem by Roderic Quinn
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Memories

Im thinkin bout my baby right now,
And Im feelin sentimental.
Shes all I got in my memory,
But it really isnt accidental.
All I have are these memories,
Memories keep haunting me.
All I have are these memories,
Memories keep haunting me.
I think about her though shes gone from me,
And I want to get her back sincerely.
I pray to heaven shes alright tonight,
cause you know I love her, lover her dearly.
But, ...
All I have is this lonely song,
Lonely song Im singin all night long.
All I have are these memories,
Memories keep haunting me.
Oooooo, oooooo, oooooo ...
Oooooo, oooooo, oooooo ...
Oooooo, oooooo, oooooo ...
Oh ...
Oooooo, oooooo, oooooo ...
All I have are these memories,
Memories keep haunting me.
All I have is this lonely song,
Lonely song Im singin all night long.
All I have are these memories,
Memories keep haunting me.
All I have is this lonely song,
Lonely song Im singin all night long.
(to fade ...)

song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The River Sings

The river sings
A voice rises above
Fairer than the water, rings

I know you well
For the river has told
All there is to tell

It sung of a maiden
Fair as the water’s song
Her heart heavy laden

Though she sang
Her song was sorrowed
In voice the sadness rang

No words were needed
The river knew
Her voice it heeded

She walked alone
Her gaiety was lost
River, her only home

She listened to the water
Telling a story
Calling her River Daughter

The river sang, through day and night
Sang for her, the only listener
She joined the song, through dark and light

She called to her lover
Come free me!
Called with song and river

poem by Rachel Harris
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A Song For All Day

A rollicking song for the morn, my boy,
A rollicking song for the morn:
It's up and out with a laugh and shout,
While the bright sun circles the world about,
And the dew is on the corn, my boy,
The dew is on the corn.
Barefoot, brown, with trousers torn,
It's up and out with the morn.

A jolly good song for the noon, my boy,
A jolly good song for the noon:
It's out and away where the wild woods sway,
And the wind and the birds have a holiday,
And whistle an oldtime tune, my boy,
And whistle an oldtime tune.
Healthy, happy, a heart of June,
It's out in the woods at noon.

A wonderful song for the eve, my boy,
A wonderful song for the eve:
The sunset's bars and a trail of stars,
And the falls of the creek a mine of spars,
Or a weft of crystal weave, my boy,
A weft of crystal weave.
Hungry, tired, with nothing to grieve,
It's home again at eve.

A lullaby song for the night, my boy,
A lullaby song for the night:
When crickets cry and owlets fly,
And the house-hound bays the moon on high,
And the window-lamp shines bright, my boy,
The window-lamp shines bright.
A drowsy kiss and a bed snow-white,
And a lullaby-song for the night.

poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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In Early Spring

O Spring, I know thee! Seek for sweet surprise
In the young children's eyes.
But I have learnt the years, and know the yet
Leaf-folded violet.
Mine ear, awake to silence, can foretell
The cuckoo's fitful bell.
I wander in a gray time that encloses
June and the wild hedge-roses.
A year's procession of the flowers doth pass
My feet, along the grass.
And all you sweet birds silent yet, I know
The notes that stir you so,
Your songs yet half devised in the dim dear
Beginnings of the year.
In these young days you meditate your part;
I have it all by heart.
I know the secrets of the seeds of flowers
Hidden and warm with showers,
And how, in kindling Spring, the cuckoo shall
Alter his interval.
But not a flower or song I ponder is
My own, but memory's.
I shall be silent in those days desired
Before a world inspired.
O dear brown birds, compose your old song-phrases,
Earth, thy familiar daisies.

The poet mused upon the dusky height,
Between two stars towards night,
His purpose in his heart. I watched, a space,
The meaning of his face:
There was the secret, fled from earth and skies,
Hid in his gray young eyes.
My heart and all the Summer wait his choice,
And wonder for his voice.
Who shall foretell his songs, and who aspire
But to divine his lyre?
Sweet earth, we know thy dimmest mysteries,
But he is lord of his.

poem by Alice Meynell
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Lay Down Your Weary Tune

Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
Struck by the sounds before the sun,
I knew the night had gone.
The morning breeze like a bugle blew
Against the drums of dawn.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The ocean wild like an organ played,
The seaweeds wove its strands.
The crashin waves like cymbals clashed
Against the rocks and sands.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws.
The cryin rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The last of leaves fell from the trees
And clung to a new loves breast.
The branches bare like a banjo played
To the winds that listened best.
I gazed down in the rivers mirror
And watched its winding strum.
The water smooth ran like a hymn
And like a harp did hum.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Swan Song(dying sentence)

Remember me, remember my swan song,

I can't re-orient myself,
I can't live it all over again,
I can't re-orient myself,
I can't live that stain of my plastered smile again,

Let this be the last moment,
Let me say the last good-bye,
It won't count anything now,
So let me lay in silence,

Life has treated me well and I have had enough of it,
Lets end this game,
Enough of milling in and out,
Hear my swan song,

And let this end now,
I need to be away,
away from these thorns,
far far away,

Where you'll only see my memories,
my shadows,
my untold stories buried after me,
and my last swan song,

Hear my swan song,
I feel like a fish out of water,
from pillar to post,
fallen back upon,

Let me be buried under sand,
let me give my final test,
I'll never return, its time to sing,
sing my last swan song,

Hear my swan song,
maybe this moment or the other,
my soul would rest in peace,
before disappearing,
let me sing,
sing my swan song,

I only remember now the memory lived in me,
a perfectly encapsulated morsel,
of a good past,
from piebald brush strokes swaying,
to barren now, that I'd become,

As I'll say my last goodbye,
hear my swan song,
because now you'll never hear my voice again,
for ever and ever and ever...

Written on 5/6/11

poem by Ayesha Riaz
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Ballad of Captious Critics

Stuffed with tradition and trammels of yore,
Cramped in their studies, they sneer and scold
At the strange, new passions young hearts would pour
Thro' a sunlit land, and a tale unfold
Of youth's ambition - new-minted gold
Fresh from life's furnace, all aglow
With none of its worth are their hearts cajoled,
If it waken no echo of things they know.

Their minds close cluttered with olden lore,
Their praise for the new is charity doled;
Their memories, clogged with a moss-grown store
Of dead men's wisdom, naught also may hold,
The flight of an eaglet, overhold,
Is an impudent thing, so their judgements go;
And the song of a bush bird leaves them cold,
If it wakes no echo of things they know.

Songs have sprung from this virgin shore,
Tales that are turned from an unworn mould,
These be but follies that grieve them sore
Rhymes the old troubadours have not trolled.
Themes must be borrowed from urn of old;
For originality irks them so,
And the voice of the bush must be controlled,
If it wakes no echo of things they know.

ENVOI

Prints - aye, and reprints, tales retold.
Shadows - for these do their plaudits grow;
But the bard stays dumb, and the book unsold
If it waken no echo of things they know.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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And... The River Runs Through It

Those sweet memories still linger in my mind
The chain of mountains, The birds singing their song,
The outspread meadows...
And the river that runs through it!

I still see us walking along the river bank holding each other's hand.
And as we lie down on the grass, Interlocked in arms, looking at the sky,
The rock sings for us, a melodious song,
As the river runs through it!

I still go there
Sometimes in dreams and sometimes in real.
The birds are still singing and the rock still sings.
Everything is unchanged except the fact that
You are nowhere to be seen.
You have crossed over to the other side of the river,
The outstretched field of heaven!
And as I sit on the grass, sorrow grips my mind
And... The river runs through it!

poem by Arti Honrao
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My Success Stories

Another day passed on the way.... Another day lost,
Loosing not only hope loosing each second which having huge cost....
Trying to fix life, each part of it,
Trying to earning, trying to full fill each need....
Earning not only a single rupee also few memories,
Memories which having success also having future stories.....
Trying hard to survive in this filed.... Field of success field of failure.
Where every one want success, failure attached with a word never....
Though failure is the way to reach the top,
You have to beat it each time till last, never say I want to stop....
Knowing this doing my part, trying each day to earning respect earning some glories,
May be some day comes when all will read my journey, my success stories....

poem by Argha Paul
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Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same

He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.

poem by Robert Frost
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Night Thought

The world around is sleeping,
The stars are bright o'erhead,
The shades of myalls weeping
Upon the sward are spread;
Among the gloomy pinetops
The fitful breezes blow,
And their murmurs seem the music
Of a song of long ago;
Soft, passionate, and wailing
Is the tender old refrain -
With a yearning unavailing -
"Will he no come back again?"

The camp-fire sparks are flying
Up from the pine-log's glow,
The wandering wind is sighing
That ballad sweet and low;
The drooping branches gleaming
In the firelight, sway and stir;
And the bushman's brain is dreaming
Of the song she sang, and her.
And the murmurs of the forest
Ring home to heart and brain,
As in the pine is chorused
"Wi11 he no come back again?"

poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
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Between Us

If you are far, then what is this I feel
The weight within my heart, upon my hands
If this is distance, does it fall
Between us, does it own us
Or do we tame and name it for ourselves?

If we cannot be sitting side by side
To watch the crucial moments of the night
The falling of the sun, the rising of the tide
The duel of stars and moon, are these not seen
On every shore of the same mother earth?

If there are tiny birds that sing
Around your hair of sunlight when I call
Will I not be so glad to know the song
That softly breaks the silence of your sleep
While I rest here with music and guitar?

Distance, tides, the winds of human fate
Dress the land in newly-fashioned clothes
For each new dawn, expression of our hearts
The words we cannot say
But know will pass between us every day.

poem by Frank Bana
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Country Living

Cats and dogs
Chickens and hogs
Lumps in the 'taters
And bumps on a log -
Stars in the night
The moon shines bright
Crowds pass through the country
Like clouds in flight -
Coffee and curds
Foxes and birds
Slow conversation
With a sweet flow in the words -
Fresh water rippling at the spring
Gives nature such a beautiful ring
Days like these
Have ways of making a heart sing -
Nights are short, days are long
Worries are few, oaks are strong
Living in the country
Is like giving the soul a wonderful song -

poem by Smoky Hoss
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Once we were kindred spirits (Novelinee Sequence)

There was something catching in our first words,
in my youth as a student I met you,
something that the mind and body records
that leads to an unplanned rendezvous
while quite suddenly we were both happy
and for each other our feelings were strong
as if what we had could last into eternity
it felt as together we did belong,
as if the birds were singing a love song.

The cheerful birds were singing a love song
and stronger and stronger our feelings grew
as into months and years we went along
and separated days were very few
while you had the ability to know me
became the star in my sky, the morning light
and to the depths of your soul I did see,
cherished you both during day and night,
together our future looked quite bright.

Being together our future was bright
sunny Cape summer days did linger
we were inseparable, you held me tight
both had the same song, a favourite singer,
but that was then and many years are gone
while we have lived in different places,
with time differently our lives moved on
and by all the gods and holy high graces
at times you still do sneak into my phrases.

poem by Gert Strydom
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The Remembering: High The Memory

As the silence of seasons on
We relive abridge sails afloat
As to call light the soul shall sing
Of the velvet sailors course on
Of the velvet sailors course on
Shine or moons send me memories trail
Oer days of forgotten tales
Course the compass to offer
Into a time that we've all seen on
Into a time that we've all seen on
High the memory carry on
While the moments start to linger
Sail away among your dreams
The strength regains us in between our time
The strength regains us in between our time
As we shall speak to differ also
The ends meet the river's son
So the ends meet the river's son
Ours the story shall we carry on
And search the forest of the sun
We dream as we dream, dream as one
And I do think very well that the son might take you silently
They move fast, they tell me
There's someone, rainbow
Alternate tune
In the days of summer so long
We danced as evening sang their song
We wander out the day so long
And I do feel very well that the evenings take you silently
They move round, sunlight
Seeing ground
Whispers of clay, alternate ways
Softer messages bringing light
To a truth long forgotten on
As we shall speak to differ also
The ends meet the river's son
So the ends meet the river's son
I reach over and the fruit of life stands still
Stand awhile we search our past anew
The music sings of love you knew
We walk around the story
Out in the city running free
Sands of companions sides that be
The strength of the meeting lies with you
Wait all the more regard your past
Schoolgates remind us of our class
Chase all confusion away with us
Stand on hills of long forgotten yesterdays
Pass amongst your memories told returnig ways
As certain as we walk today
We walk around the story
Out in the city running free
Days pass as seconds turn the key
The strength of the moment lies with you
Don the cap and close your eyes
Imagine all the glorious challenge
Iron metal cast to others
Distant drums
Force the bit betwenn the mouth of freedom
Didn't we learn to fly
Remember to sail the skies
Distant suns
Will we reach
Winds allow
Other skylines
Other skylines to hold you
Relayer, all the dying cried before you
Relayer, we've rejoiced in all their meaning
Relayer, we advance, we retrace our stories
Like a dreamer all our lives
Are only lost begotten changes
We relive in seagull's pages
Outward ways
Things are all in colours
And the size of others shall send you forward
Arranged to sail you toward
A peace of mind
Will we reach
Winds allow
Other skylines
Other skylines to hold you
Relayer, all the passion spent on one cross
Relayer, sail the futile wars they suffer
Relayer, we advance, we retrace our story
Fail safe now
Stand on hills of long forgotten yesterdays
Pass amongst your memories told returning ways
As certain as we walk today
Press over moments leaving you
Out in the city runnig free
Days pass as seconds turn the key
The strength of the moment lies with you
Out tender outward lights of you
Shine over mountains make the view
The strength of you seeing lies with you
Ours entrance we surely carry on
And change the passing as the sun
We don't even need to try, we are one
And I do think very well as the truth unfolds you silently
They move time, rainbows
Sunlight
Alternate tune, alternate tune
Rainbows, soft light
Alternate view
Sunlight tell me
Someone
Alternate view
Alternate view
Surely, surely

song performed by by Yes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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