Related quotes: The crowded street his playground...

The Little Orphan

The crowded street his playground is, a patch of blue his sky;
A puddle in a vacant lot his sea where ships pass by:
Poor little orphan boy of five, the city smoke and grime
Taint every cooling breeze he gets throughout the summer time;
And he is just as your boy is, a child who loves to play,
Except that he is drawn and white and cannot get away.
And he would like the open fields, for often in his dreams
The angels kind bear him off to where are pleasant streams,
Where he may sail a splendid boat, sometimes he flies a kite,
Or romps beside a shepherd dog and shouts with all his might;
But when the dawn of morning comes he wakes to find once more
That what he thought were sun-kissed hills are rags upon the floor.

Then through the hot and sultry day he plays at "make-pretend,"
The alley is a sandy beach where all the rich folks send
Their little boys and girls to play, a barrel is his boat,
But, oh, the air is tifling and the dust fills up his throat;
And though he tries so very hard to play, somehow it seems
He never gets such wondrous joys as angels bring in dreams.

Poor little orphan boy of five, except that he is pale,
With sunken cheeks and hollow eyes and very wan and frail,
Just like that little boy of yours, with same desire to play,
Fond of the open fields and skies, he's built the self-same way;
But kept by fate and circumstance away from shady streams,
His only joy comes when he sleeps and angels bring him dreams.

poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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Related quotes

Nacken - Water Demon

The evening is festooned with golden clouds
the fairies dance in the meadow
and the leaf-crowned Nacken
plays his fiddle in the silvery brook.
Little boy in the brush on the bank
resting in the violet vapor
hears the noise from the chilly water
calls out in the still night.

"Poor old fellow, why do you play?
will it take the pain away?
you bring the woods and the fields to life
but you'll never be a child of God.

Paradise's moonlit nights
eden's flower-crowned plains
angels of the light on high--
never to be beheld by your eye."

Tears stream down the old man's face
down he dives into the rapids
the fiddle silences.
And the Nacken will never
play again in the silvery brook.

poem by Erik Johan Stagnelius
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At play

Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we lovers two
Are just as happy as we can be,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
"I love you" we both shall say,
All in earnest and all in play.

Or, play that you are that other one
That some time came, and went away;
And play that the light of years agone
Stole into my heart again to-day!
Playing that you are the one I knew
In the days that never again may be,
I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
I love you!" my heart shall say
To the ghost of the past come back to-day!

Or, play that you sought this nestling-place
For your own sweet self, with that dual guise
Of your pretty mother in your face
And the look of that other in your eyes!
So the dear old loves shall live anew
As I hold my darling on my knee,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
Oh, many a strange, true thing we say
And do when we pretend to play!

poem by Eugene Field
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His Passion

A whistle blown as down he went
An enemy had done that, whom he never knew
A scarlet shown and away an opponent goes in shame
To walk he cannot and to run, time to come

On the pitch he gets hurt
His bone greatly hurting and every muscle with pain
The joy in him, no pain ever too strong
"When shall I recover", he prays, to the green turf?
"Yet again will I score more great goals"

To play on the old fields of Trafford
And by the bridge of Stanford
To play with the red devils and against the white angels
Just to hear the cops cheer and scream his name
"d'nho! d'nho! ! d'nho! ! ! '"
The love he feels, the love never given
His passion in all of life unfold

to ronaldinho, best ever!

poem by Nicholas Boateng
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The dream-ship

When the world is fast asleep,
Along the midnight skies--
As though it were a wandering cloud--
The ghostly dream-ship flies.

An angel stands at the dream-ship's helm,
An angel stands at the prow,
And an angel stands at the dream-ship's side
With a rue-wreath on her brow.

The other angels, silver-crowned,
Pilot and helmsman are,
And the angel with the wreath of rue
Tosseth the dreams afar.

The dreams they fall on rich and poor;
They fall on young and old;
And some are dreams of poverty,
And some are dreams of gold.

And some are dreams that thrill with joy,
And some that melt to tears;
Some are dreams of the dawn of love,
And some of the old dead years.

On rich and poor alike they fall,
Alike on young and old,
Bringing to slumbering earth their joys
And sorrows manifold.

The friendless youth in them shall do
The deeds of mighty men,
And drooping age shall feel the grace
Of buoyant youth again.

The king shall be a beggarman--
The pauper be a king--
In that revenge or recompense
The dream-ship dreams do bring.

So ever downward float the dreams
That are for all and me,
And there is never mortal man
Can solve that mystery.

But ever onward in its course
Along the haunted skies--
As though it were a cloud astray--
The ghostly dream-ship flies.

Two angels with their silver crowns
Pilot and helmsman are,
And an angel with a wreath of rue
Tosseth the dreams afar.

poem by Eugene Field
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A Trembling Star

"There is my little trembling star," she said.
   I looked; once more
The tender sea had put the sun to bed,
   And heaven's floor
   Was grey.

And nowhere yet in all that young night sky
   Was any star,
But one that hung above the sea. Not high,
   Nor very far
   Away.

"I watch it every night," she said, and crept
   Within my arm.
"Soft little star, I wish the angels kept
   It safe from harm
   Alway.

"I know it is afraid," she said; her eyes
   Held a sweet tear.
"They send it all alone into the skies,
   No big stars near,
   To stay.

"They push it out before the sweet, kind moon
   Lights up the sea.
They laugh because it fears the dark. `Soon, soon,
   You'll braver be,'
   They say.

"One night I climbed far up that high white tree
   Beside the beach,
And tried to stretch my hand across the sea
   And tried to reach
   The grey.

"For something made me feel my heart would break
   Unless that night
I in my hand my trembling star could take
   And kiss its fright
   Away.

"There only blew a strange wind chillily,
   And clouds were swept.
The angels would not let my own star see
   That someone wept.
   I pray

"To Christ, who hears my little prayers each night,
   That He will seek
Through all His skies for that sweet, frightened light,
   And stoop His cheek
   And say

"`My angels must not send so frail a thing
   To light the West.
Lift up the little trembling star to cling
   About my breast
   Alway.'"

poem by Ethel Turner
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Vitaï Lampada

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of schoolboy rallies the ranks,
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

This is the word that year by year
While in her place the School is set
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
"Play up! play up! and play the game!"

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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The cunnin' little thing

When baby wakes of mornings,
Then it's wake, ye people all!
For another day
Of song and play
Has come at our darling's call!
And, till she gets her dinner,
She makes the welkin ring,
And she won't keep still till she's had her fill -
The cunnin' little thing!

When baby goes a-walking,
Oh, how her paddies fly!
For that's the way
The babies say
To other folk "by-by";
The trees bend down to kiss her,
And the birds in rapture sing,
As there she stands and waves her hands -
The cunnin' little thing!

When baby goes a-rocking
In her bed at close of day,
At hide-and-seek
On her dainty cheek
The dreams and the dimples play;
Then it's sleep in the tender kisses
The guardian angels bring
From the Far Above to my sweetest love -
You cunnin' little thing!

poem by Eugene Field
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Rusty Angels

They say you came from heaven but I know thats not the truth,
Cause I dont think an angel could look anything like you,
Your eyes are made from sapphires and your heart is made from stone,
You gotta be the closest thing to hate Ive ever known,
And if I didnt know better Id say you had come alone to the party.
Oh yeah.
The light is always shining, but you swear that its gone black,
The tide is always turning, but youre never looking back,
If I didnt know better Id say times were pretty bad,
Because rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, yeah,
Rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, gonna die.
The gifts you bring are fire, and your dreams they turned to dust,
Your flying days are over, and your wings have turned to rust.
If I didnt know better, Id say all you had is lost,
Because rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, yeah,
Rusty angels they cant fly,
Rusty angels gonna die, gonna die.
If you swallow just a little pride, you might find a little love inside,
Open up and let somebody in, cause if you need somebody,
You know its not a sin.
Rusty angels they cant fly, rusty angels gonna die, yeah,
Rusty angels they cant fly, no, rusty angels gonna die,
Gonna die, yeah, you cant fly, oh no,
Gonna die, oh yeah, you cant fly, oh no.

song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men Honoured Above Angels

Now let us join with hearts and tongues,
And emulate the angels' songs;
Yea, sinners may address their King
In songs that angels cannot sing.

They praise the Lamb who once was slain;
But we can add a higher strain;
Not only say, "He suffer'd thus,
"But that he suffer'd all for us."

When angels by transgression fell,
Justice consign'd them all to hell;
But Mercy form'd a wondrous plan,
To save and honour fallen man.

Jesus, who pass'd the angels by,
Assum'd our flesh to bleed and die;
And still he makes it his abode;
As man he fills the throne of God.

Our next of kin, our Brother now,
Is he to whom the angels bow;
They join with us to praise his name,
But we the nearest int'rest claim.

But, ah! how faint our praises rise!
Sure, 'tis the wonder of the skies,
That we, who share his richest love,
So cold and unconcern'd should prove.

Oh, glorious hour, it comes with speed!
When we, from sin and darkness freed,
Shall see the God who died for man,
And praise him more than angels can.

poem by John Newton
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Croquet by Moonlight

On a moonlight evening, in the month of May,
A number of young people were playing at croquet,
They mingled together, the bashful with the gay,
And had a pleasant time and chat, while playing at croquet.

CHORUS:

This play they call croquet, croquet,
This play they call croquet,
It is amusement for the young,
This play they call croquet.

On that pleasant evening, the moon shone clear and bright,
And every heart among that crowd was filed with great delight.
It was a merry party, for lady Dell was there
Her merry laugh above the rest was heard by all, so fair.

CHORUS: This play, etc.

She was the belle that evening, admired by great and small,
And all the boys liked to play with the girl and blue ball.
She was a splendid player, so lively and so gay,
For she was skilled in playing that pleasant game croquet.

CHORUS: This play, etc.

Two young men among them, that loved this pretty Dell;
Although I write about them, their names I will not tell.
They were fine young fellows, so bashful, and yet so gay;
They tried to beat the girl that with the blue ball play.

CHORUS: This play, etc.

Ah! with those handsome fellows, Dell thought she'd have some fun,
"The one of you that'll catch me, may see me safely home."
The play began in earnest, between those fine young men,
To catch the girl with the blue ball, was impossible for them.

CHORUS: This play, etc.

She went around the play-ground, so full of life and gay,
She left them at the farther arch, so she beat them at croquet.
It was late that evening, and as I went away,
I know not how they came out, in that pleasant game, croquet.

CHORUS: This play, etc.

So croquet by moonlight is pleasant, as you see,
For business cares were laid aside, in that little company.
So playing at croquet, croquet, so playing at croquet,
It is amusement for the young folks, this play of croquet.

poem by Julia A Moore
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Kalimba Story

Maurice white & verdine white
Saw it in a store, one day.
Thought it might, make me play
Future music all for you-
Seen me thru my hardest times-
Thought it was bout time, to open
A new world just for you-
Fills all my needs, gave me the key
Door was open, for me to see
Playin around the world, touchin
All the boys and girls with a new
Love to make them free
Kalimba, ooh kalimba, play me a tune
Kalimba, ooh kalimba, Im glad I found you
Kalimba, ooh kalimba, play me a tune
Kalimba, ooh kalimba sends a message to you
If you lend an ear, and you have no fear
The vibration will move your mind
Its new to you, sounds true to you
Sacred music before its time
Play it for ya now, wanna see
Just how, my kalimba get next to you
Are you ready now, well get ready
Come along, groove with the new-
Kalimba, ooh kalimba, play me a tune
Kalimba, ooh kalimba, Im glad I found you
Kalimba, ooh kalimba, play me a tune
Kalimba, ooh kalimba sends a message to you

song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man With The Horn

(released as b-side of sussudio single, 1985)
They come from miles around just to hear him play
Hes on the same street corner almost every day
And theres always a crowd wherever he goes
And when he blows his horn, well everybody knows
I only wanna see him play
All the girls n boys they wanna see him play
Nobody else they wanna see him play
And he brings a tear to the eye
Hell make you smile of make you cry
And nobody asks him why
Cos they just wanna see him play
They come from every way, every night
Hes got a band so out there, its outta sight
And the boys in the dancehall are rocking in the aisle
The girls up front - they wanna see him smile
I only wanna see him play
All the girls n boys they wanna see him play
Nobody else they wanna see him play
And he brings a tear to the eye
Hell make you smile of make you cry
Ooh, nobody asks him why
Cos they just wanna see him play
Yeah, hes the man with the horn
Ooh they wanna see him play
Yeah, hes the man with the horn
Ooh they wanna see him play
Yeah, hes the man with the horn
You know they wanna see him, they wanna see him
They wanna, they wanna, they wanna see him play
(play it, don!)
Ah, station to station, coast to coast
Well you can hear all his records on the radio
He makes every evening feel like saturday night
And if youre happy or sad hell make the feeling right
I only wanna see him play
All the girls n boys they wanna see him play
Nobody else they wanna see him play
And he brings a tear to the eye
Hell make you smile of make you cry
Ooh, nobody asks him why
Cos they just wanna see him play
Yes, you know they wanna see him, they wanna see him
Chow, they know they wanna see him, they wanna see him
They wanna, they wanna, they wanna see him play
They wanna see him play, play, play, play
Oh, all the girls and boys wanna see him play
All the girls and boys wanna see him play
All the girls and boys...

song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hattie House

Air -- "Lily Dale"

Come all kind friends, wherever you may be,
Come listen to what I say,
It's of a little girl that was pleasant to see,
And she died while out doors at play.

CHORUS:

Oh! Hattie, dear Hattie,
Sweet little Hattie House --
May the flowers ever bloom o'er the little tomb,
Of our loved one, Hattie House.

She had blue eyes and light flaxen hair,
Her little heart was light and gay,
She said to her mother, that morning fair,
"Mother, can I go out and play?"

Her mother tied her bonnet on,
Not thinking it would be the last
She would ever see her dear little one
In this world, little Hattie House.

She left the house, this dear little girl,
On that bright and pleasant day --
She went to play with two little girls
That were near about her age.

She was not gone but a little while
When they heard her playmates call --
Her friends hastened there to save the child,
Alas, she was dead and gone.

Those little girls will not forget
The day little Hattie died,
For she was with them when she fell in a fit,
While playing by their side.

She was her parents' only child,
And her age was near six years,
And now she has left them for a while --
Left all her friends in tears.

She has left this world of grief and woe,
Dear friends, she has left behind --
She is waiting on the other shore,
To meet them bye and bye.

One fine morning, the fifth of July,
The summer flowers were in bloom,
Eighteen seventy-one, little Hattie died,
And is sleeping in her tomb.

poem by Julia A Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clouds and Waves

Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me-
"We play from the time we wake till the day ends.
We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon."
I ask, "But how am I to get up to you ?"
They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your
hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds."
"My mother is waiting for me at home, "I say, "How can I leave
her and come?"
Then they smile and float away.
But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will
be the blue sky.
The folk who live in the waves call out to me-
"We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know
not where we pass."
I ask, "But how am I to join you?"
They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand with
your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves."
I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the everything-
how can I leave her and go?"
They smile, dance and pass by.
But I know a better game than that.
I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.
I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with
laughter.
And no one in the world will know where we both are.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Overnight Angels

(ian hunter)
In the heat of the indian summer
Out along the appalachian way
You can hear the sound of the overnight angels
As they pray
Charged by the light of some mariners lantern
Spitting out a cold but triangular spray
Cant you hear the screams of the overnight angels
As they play
Talking to the spirits through a silver curtain
Reaching out beyond the length of the light
You can catch a glimpse of an overnight angel
As he shines
Dancing through the toys of the dead and the living
Laughing at the poets changing their rhymes
Cant you feel the pulse of the overnight angels
Beating time
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels angels angels
Children of the junkies led the revolution
Push yourselves over get yourselves there
Someone throw their arms round the overnight angels
Cause they care
Angels dont need no phony religion
Throw them out along with the ethnic nowheres
They will never speak to the overnight angels
They can only stare
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels angels angels angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels angels angels angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels angels angels angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels
Can you hear us can you hear us
Were talking bout the overnight angels angels angels angels
Angels angels angels angels
Angels angels angels angels
Angels angels angels angels
Overnight angels
Overnight angels
Talking about
The overnight angels
(fade)

song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ship That Never Returned

On a summer's day while the waves were rippling, with a quiet and a gentle breeze;
A ship set sail with a cargo laden for a port beyond the sea.