Lessons of English
When Desdemona sang a ditty-
In her last hours among the living-
It wasn't love that she lamented,
And not her star-she mourned a willow.
When Desdemona started singing,
With tears near choking off her voice,
Her evil demon for her evil day
Stored up of weeping rills a choice.
And when Ophelia sang a ballad-
In her last hours among the living-
All dryness of her soul was carried
Aloft by gusts of wind, like cinders.
The day Ophelia started singing,
By bitterness of daydreams jaded,
What trophies did she clutch, when sinking?
A bunch of buttercups and daisies.
Their shoulders stripped of passion's tatters,
They took, their hearts a-quake with fear,
The Universe's chilly baptism-
To stun their loving forms with spheres.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Related quotes
I started singing for The Phantom in January, and we started filming in October and I sang all the way through to the next June. In fact, I was singing for about two months before I even knew I had the role.
quote by Gerard Butler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Hear Voices...
And from the graves, where names were carved in
stone, came a mournful Ballad, of life gone by.
A Ballad sang by mothers, whose children left behind,
and left to sing their ballads, of tears that did remain.
And what of Fathers Ballad, whose job was not complete,
who died and sang his song, of things that could not be.
In a smaller voices, still weeping and confused, the children
sang their Ballad, of parents never knew.
And in some far off place, a Ballad did come fourth, of all
the deaths that happened, that wasn't meant to be.
A soldiers painful Ballad, did seemed so unjust, of the
war that finally killed him, in a land he never knew.
The Ballad, of unknown, thou human, none the less,
were buried here alone, with not a one to care.
In the quiet of a cemetery morn, the Ballad of
the dead, echoes silently across green grass,
and through the granite stones.
It makes one wonder, about the Ballad of the dead,
and what will be our song...when we are finally gone.
Day Of The Locusts
Oh, the benches were stained with tears and perspiration,
The birdies were flying from tree to tree.
There was little to say, there was no conversation
As I stepped to the stage to pick up my degree.
And the locusts sang off in the distance,
Yeah, the locusts sang such a sweet melody.
Oh, the locusts sang off in the distance,
Yeah, the locusts sang and they were singing for me.
I glanced into the chamber where the judges were talking,
Darkness was everywhere, it smelled like a tomb.
I was ready to leave, I was already walkin,
But the next time I looked there was light in the room.
And the locusts sang, yeah, it give me a chill,
Oh, the locusts sang such a sweet melody.
Oh, the locusts sang their high whining trill,
Yeah, the locusts sang and they were singing for me.
Outside of the gates the trucks were unloadin,
The weather was hot, a-nearly 90 degrees.
The man standin next to me, his head was exploding,
Well, I was prayin the pieces wouldnt fall on me.
Yeah, the locusts sang off in the distance,
Yeah, the locusts sang such a sweet melody.
Oh, the locusts sang off in the distance,
And the locusts sang and they were singing for me.
I put down my robe, picked up my diploma,
Took hold of my sweetheart and away we did drive,
Straight for the hills, the black hills of dakota,
Sure was glad to get out of there alive.
And the locusts sang, well, it give me a chill,
Yeah, the locusts sang such a sweet melody.
And the locusts sang with a high whinin trill,
Yeah, the locusts sang and they was singing for me,
Singing for me, well, singing for me.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Avon
WHAT are the Willows whispering in a row,
Nodding their old heads o'er the river's edge?
What does the West wind whisper to the sedge
And to the shame-faced purples drooping low?
Why sobs the water, in its broken flow
Lapping against the grey weir's ruined ledge?
And, in the thorny shelter of the hedge,
What bird unloads his heart of woe?
Green Avon's haunted! Look, from yonder bank
The willow leans, that hath not ceased to weep,
Whence, hanging garlands, fair Ophelia sank;
Since Jacques moped here the trees have had a tongue;
And all these streams and whispering willows keep
The moan of Desdemona's dying song.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Ophelia is Drowning
Ophelia is drowning,
And she is not afraid,
She thinks death quite romantic
At 20 she is already an old maid.
Ophelia is drowning
In a view for all too see
In a unrequited suicide
For a love such as he.
Ophelia is drowning,
Her faded fingers hold a wedding bouquet,
And the water fills her lungs
She will never see her wedding day.
15/04/07
poem by Charlie F. Kane
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The Song
I SANG of the sun on the waters,
And then of the wind in the wood;
And the people hearkened my singing
And said that the song was good.
I sang of the sheep on the mountains,
And then of the thrush on the hill;
And the people hearkened my singing
And said it was better still.
I sang of the bliss of lovers,
And then of their hopes that fall;
And the people hearkened my singing
And said it was best of all.
For the song that is loved of the people,
And sought since the world began,
Is the sad and beautiful music
Of the loves and sorrows of Man.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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The Poet's Song
I HID in the world and sang,
And I sang so loud and long
That all the ages rang
With the music of my song.
I sang of the earth and sky,
5
I sang of the whispering seas,
I sang of the mountains high,
And I sang of the flowers and trees;
I sang of the early spring,
I sang of the dawning day,
10
I sang, for I had to sing
As the young lambs have to play;
Till heaven and earth were ringing,
And all the people heard,
And they said, "We love his singing,
15
For his song is the song of the bird."
poem by Frederick George Scott
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The very first Walnut Whales recording was recorded just a few weeks after I had started singing, out of the blue, started singing. And the voice, you can hear how uncomfortable I am with it, and how terrified I am with it.
quote by Joanna Newsom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Singing Bird, I was!
Bird, singing Bird, I am!
Got trapped myself,
lured by desires and
Effects of my own karma!
I found myself in cage,
Made by my own fate,
who become my master!
But when I started singing,
Praise of my lord, not caring my master,
Softer and softer became
my master's heart!
I started singing for the one who placed me here,
Slowly wiping my eyes,
With my own wings,
singing melodious songs
I was amusing my heart,
And singing became my integral part!
I sang because I saw smile on lips of both,
My master as well as my Lord,
And I sang because it pleaseth all!
Nought I couldn't do more,
Eat, sleep then awake,
Pat my back with my own wings then sit and sing!
I was trying to find way out,
Dashed against nuts and bolts of the Cage,
And broke my wings and legs!
My pain was doubled,
soar multiplied as I tried more and more to get myself free!
Master was laughing at me but he had sympathy,
He took me out and cleansed my wounds with his divine power and told me to cool down and wait and sing than try something great
and great will be the pain,
if act impatient!
I sang to Lord, O! Lord,
Thou hast ears to hear
this painful song!
Come on and free me!
I slept exhausted of weeping Lord came in dream and said,
'Child look, bother not of wing that are mortal,
Look into heart, heart has wings that never fail
Wings that are ever strong,
Even heart can sing when it fly, and even it can fly where air is not, fairies that land!
They call it heaven!
Woke up and saw my cage!
Cage that allow me not,
never it allowed me to fly!
I sat like meditating on God!
Then my mind absorbed in lord,
Body was stiff like a corpse,
Seeing that master opened the cage,
Lord appeared and said,
My child it is now or never!
Suddenly I got out and flew to my Lord, where my master, Karma and his cage have no entry!
I sang to Lord, 'O Lord, I praise you thee,
Thy will be my will!
Thy wish be my wish!
thy mighty will is done,
That saved me, thy love and
Thy mercy showed the path
Thee, is my only savior!
thy merciful hands lifted me! '
AUM, AMEN AMEEN!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Melody
Melody
By: Adam M. Snow
O' Melody, names like the angel's song;
music swaying around thine love
but of thy love my days be long;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
I long to hear thy voice, thy angelic voice
soothes away my hearts desire.
But it be that of love's choice
echoing upon thy voice.
Can thee forever love a lonely man such as I,
or do thee live on knowing not that of love,
or do thee walk passed and curse myself to die?
This feeling, this love O' Melody I cannot deny.
Let me hear thy choir of thy song;
a voice so deep calming the soul.
Let thy voice and passion be strong;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
Sing; let thy voice be heard across the Earth.
Let it pierce thy shadows.
Let the world see a new found birth
and the wonders its worth.
O' Melody, a song I longed after
to cleanse my immortal soul,
to feel the joy and laughter
and be with you hereafter.
O' Melody, names like the angel's song;
music swaying around thine love
but of thy love my days be long;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
O' Melody, play thy music for I love thee.
Thy lyrics be true thy heart,
Thy song be thy key
to set all souls free.
Let me hear thy choir of thy song;
a voice so deep calming the soul.
Let thy voice and passion be strong;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Evil That Men Do
Love is a razor and I walked the line
On that silver blade
Slept in the dust with his daughter
Her eyes red with
The slaughter of innocence
But I will pray for her
I will call her name out loud
I would bleed for her
I only I could see her now
Living on a razors edge
Balancing on a ledge
Living on a razors edge
The evil that men do lives on and on...
The evil that men do lives on and on...
The evil that men do lives on and on...
The evil that men do lives on and on...
Circle of fire my baptism of joy and at an end it seems
The seventh lamb slain
The book of life opens before me
But I will pray for you
And some day I may return
I would die for you
Beyond is where I learn
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hush goes the crowd
(The music plays, the stage is lit, the crowd come in and a man starts to sing)
Hush goes the crowd,
While I sing this sad love ballad,
The story of my heart,
And I continue singing,
One by one,
The leave the theatre,
And soon I’m left alone,
Singing this ballad,
While I weep before every word,
From daybreak to midnight,
From spring till to winter,
I sing this melancholy filled ballad,
Murmuring these words,
As my throat dry’s,
(The man is on his knees)
Now in a empty theatre,
This song still plays,
Even though I’m alone,
My speech does not stop,
And from a sad ballad,
This song his turned into screams,
Shattering through,
Deafening every living being,
But it isn’t even heard,
No not even listened to,
By the muse of this song,
If only she heard my voice,
If only she would come to this theatre,
(Sound of weeping, tears hit the stage floor; the light slowly fades, till there is only silence and darkness)
Then the Hong is hit,
And I awake to sing again,
The same old lyrics,
There is a new audience in the seats,
But she is not here,
She will never be,
Where she is,
Is far away,
(The music plays again and he starts to sing then hush say’s the crowd)
poem by Paurakh Shrestha
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Laertes: Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well
What I have said to you.
Ophelia: ‘Tis in my memory lock’d,
And you yourself shall keep the key of it.
line from Hamlet, Act I, Scene 3 by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sights
I saw a singer singing to a crowd,-
Singing of laughing life,- and all the while
He sang in tones so shrilly loud,
Not one man had a smile.
I saw a fiddler from a broken plain
Playing his weeping fiddle,- sweet and clear.
He sang of Death and Cries and Pain,-
But no one shed a tear.
I saw a whistling soldier, still and wan,
Firing his rifle from a fearful place,-
But all the time a dying man
Looked long upon his face.
poem by Leon Gellert
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1841-1891
The wind rose, the sea rose
A wave rose on the sea,
It sang the mournful singing
Of a sad centenary;
It sang the song of an old man
Whose heart had died of grief,
Whose soul had dried and withered
At the falling of the leaf.
It sang the song of a young man
Whose heart had died of pain
When Spring was black and withered
And the winter come again.
The wind rose, the sea rose
A wave rose on the sea
Swelled with the mournful singing
Of a sad centenary.
poem by Joseph Mary Plunkett
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My father being in the movie business, I thought being an actor would be great. But when I started singing to people in coffeehouses, you know, singing folk music and then, later, singing songs that I started to write myself, I felt more than an affinity for it.
quote by David Crosby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Willow Shade
I sat beneath a willow tree,
Where water falls and calls;
While fancies upon fancies solaced me,
Some true, and some were false.
Who set their heart upon a hope
That never comes to pass,
Droop in the end like fading heliotrope
The sun's wan looking-glass.
Who set their will upon a whim
Clung to through good and ill,
Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim,
Or hit or miss their will.
All things are vain that wax and wane,
For which we waste our breath;
Love only doth not wane and is not vain,
Love only outlives death.
A singing lark rose toward the sky,
Circling he sang amain;
He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high,
And then he sank again.
A second like a sunlit spark
Flashed singing up his track;
But never overtook that foremost lark,
And songless fluttered back.
A hovering melody of birds
Haunted the air above;
They clearly sang contentment without words,
And youth and joy and love.
O silvery weeping willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Have you no purpose but to shadow me
Beside this rippled spring?
On this first fleeting day of Spring,
For Winter is gone by,
And every bird on every quivering wing
Floats in a sunny sky;
On this first Summer-like soft day,
While sunshine steeps the air,
And every cloud has gat itself away,
And birds sing everywhere.
Have you no purpose in the world
But thus to shadow me
With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled,
O weeping willow tree?
With all your tremulous leaves outspread
Betwixt me and the sun,
While here I loiter on a mossy bed
With half my work undone;
My work undone, that should be done
At once with all my might;
For after the long day and lingering sun
Comes the unworking night.
This day is lapsing on its way,
Is lapsing out of sight;
And after all the chances of the day
Comes the resourceless night.
The weeping willow shook its head
And stretched its shadow long;
The west grew crimson, the sun smoldered red,
The birds forbore a song.
Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves,
The ripple made a moan,
The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves;
And then I felt alone.
I rose to go, and felt the chill,
And shivered as I went;
Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still,
What more that willow meant;
That silvery weeping willow tree
With all leaves shivering,
Which spent one long day overshadowing me
Beside a spring in Spring.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Medusa
You invaded my world, a form glacial,
gorgeous you appeared and perfect!
But dismal evil, forbidding 'n' bifacial
with thy figure scenic and bedecked.
Medusa head welled from shoulders;
evil dark eyes adorned thy forehead;
wolf hidden cynodonts were encoders,
of your transforming grace to embed.
Gods! I yelled while graces deplored,
of your appearance evil and badness,
a moon of stupor, unfavorably adored,
our romance; an entranced madness.
Thus you appeared in my world, wicked;
Malfunctioning in a world of evil quash,
A nightmare came in my soul to nick it;
while Demons chanted winged to bash.
Perspired I sprang out besprent sheets,
outside wraiths in air shrillness holler;
it's the wind singing frightful on sleets;
it's our loneliness of winds 'n' callers.
So slow I stare out, to a white vastness,
I recall your gleaming eyes and my ail,
tearing gusts of the wind in darkness,
Time continuity extends, pain to prevail.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Feeling the rath of Evil
Feeling Evil
Evil on a night like this
Evil tasting like a twisted wish
Evil paralized upon the ground
Evil tates the tears of fear
Evil tainted sounds of cheer
Evil dripping down; your blood of hate
Evil tearing down your helpless fate
Evil swears that by the night's end
Evil won't say it was all pretend
Evil because Death will follow you
Evil until full content
Evil pleasured to full extent
poem by Kelsi Gray
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Recollection - First Poetic Impulse
my first poetic impulse
was in my pre school days
i must have been only four
years old lying sweet on the
kitchen floor one fine morning
sucking on my milk bottle
out on the tip of a pointed roof
a magpie had gathered itself
comfortably and started singing
its heart out to the sun just beginning
to warm up the new day
its song was edged like the roof
pointed here and there
in the rhythm and fractured tone
of a disconcerted soul
complaining all the world's
injustices to the heavens
like a chirpy woman crying mad about
poor treatments of her in laws
it sang for so long i was
provoked to ask the bird
what it was pining all about
about the black and white
of its days?
i asked and it sang
i asked and it sang
beak pointed to the sky
i asked and it sang
i asked and it sang
until it thought it was done
and flew away without a note
leaving a trail of silence and
melancholy on an empty
roof, the morning and -
an unrequited heart
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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