En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Nest

That was the skylark we heard
Singing so high,
The little quivering bird
We saw, and the sky.
The earth was drenched with sun,
The sky was drenched with song;
We lay in the grass and listened,
Long and long and long.

I said, 'What a spell it is
Has made her rise
To pour out her world of bliss
In that world of skies!'
You said, 'What a spell must pass
Between sky and plain,
Since she finds in this world of grass
Her nest again!'

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Skylark

'It is the skylark come.' For shame!
Robert-a-Cockney is thy name:
Robert-a-Field would surely know
That skylarks, bless them, never go!

* * *

Love of my life, bear witness here
How we have heard them all the year;
How to the skylark's song are set
The days we never can forget.
At Rustington, do you remember?
We heard the skylarks in December;
In January above the snow
They sang to us by Hurstmonceux
Once in the keenest airs of March
We heard them near the Marble Arch;
Their April song thrilled Tonbridge air;
May found them singing everywhere;
And oh, in Sheppey, how their tune
Rhymed with the bean-flower scent in June.
One unforgotten day at Rye
They sang a love-song in July;
In August, hard by Lewes town,
They sang of joy 'twixt sky and down;
And in September's golden spell
We heard them singing on Scaw Fell.
October's leaves were brown and sere,
But skylarks sang by Teston Weir;
And in November, at Mount's Bay,
They sang upon our wedding day!

* * *

Mr.-a-Field, go forth, go forth,
Go east and west and south and north;
You'll always find the furze in flower,
Find every hour the lovers' hour,
And, by my faith in love and rhyme,
The skylark singing all the time!

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Voice of Love

After a long solitary confinement
In deep love for someone
I heard a song
A song in the woods
Where I stood
The woods which stood in the solitude

There was nobody
Nobody except me
Nobody heard the song
Which rapped in the woods
Somewhere, but I didn't know where
The song I heard wasn't raspy
Neither soft nor melodious
The song I heard was heart-strucken'd

There was a tone
A tune where you can find
A rapt of love.
The song has given pathogen in me
Who's that guy?
Singing in love
Crying and dying in love?

I listened to the song carefully
Now I found
The lonely woods are in me
And the song I heard
was the voice
The voice of love in me.

poem by D'menz Veen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Selfsame Song

A bird sings the selfsame song,
With never a fault in its flow,
That we listened to here those long
Long years ago.

A pleasing marvel is how
A strain of such rapturous rote
Should have gone on thus till now
unchanged in a note!

--But its not the selfsame bird.--
No: perished to dust is he....
As also are those who heard
That song with me.

poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

In a Museum

I

Here's the mould of a musical bird long passed from light,
Which over the earth before man came was winging;
There's a contralto voice I heard last night,
That lodges with me still in its sweet singing.

II

Such a dream is Time that the coo of this ancient bird
Has perished not, but is blent, or will be blending
Mid visionless wilds of space with the voice that I heard,
In the full-fuged song of the universe unending.

poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

To Marc Chagall

Donkey or cow, cockerel or horse
On to the skin of a violin
A singing man a single bird
An agile dancer with his wife

A couple drenched in their youth

The gold of the grass lead of the sky
Separated by azure flames
Of the health-giving dew
The blood glitters the heart rings

A couple the first reflection

And in a cellar of snow
The opulent vine draws
A face with lunar lips
That never slept at night.

poem by Paul Eluard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Summer Morn

Season of mist and mellow fruit,
Of blossom and scented air.
Bird song and busy bee,
seem to inhabit everywhere
Grass green horizon,
velvet blue morning sky.
A little bird with a sweet song,
is singing on wing high in the sky.
Dew laden petals sparkle,
under the new day’s sun.
While somewhere in the distance,
children are laughing and having fun.

3 Nov 1978

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Grass

The world is all one smother of grass,
Waves of it rolling deep and green,
Clothing the paddocks’ gentle slope,
Laughing the brown tree-trunks between.
And some are praising the brilliant flowers,
The beauty of foliage as they pass,
But I am drinking its glory in
And thanking the Lord for grass, for grass!

The air is a-murmur with rippling sound
From jubilant creeks long fed with rain,
Singing of drought and travail past
And a bounteous earth drown young again-
An earth that is telling its thankfulness
With passionate rapture too deep for words
In acres and acres of waving grass,
Haven of promise to starving herds.

There’s a tangle of bloom in its moist green shade,
Mottled yam-flowers and gentians blue,
Small white stars that are honey sweet,
And nodding bluebells all drenched with dew.
And oh! The breath of its incense rare
As the summer breezes over it pass,
My heart is thrilling with voiceless prayer
And thanking the Giver of things for grass.

poem by Alice Guerin Crist
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Voice

One feather is a bird,
I claim; one tree, a wood;
In her low voice I heard
More than a mortal should;
And so I stood apart,
Hidden in my own heart.

And yet I roamed out where
Those notes went, like the bird,
Whose thin song hung in air,
Diminished, yet still heard:
I lived with open sound,
Aloft, and on the ground.

That ghost was my own choice,
The shy cerulean bird;
It sang with her true voice,
And it was I who heard
A slight voice reply;
I heard; and only I.

Desire exults the ear:
Bird, girl, and ghostly tree,
The earth, the solid air--
Their slow song sang in me;
The long noon pulsed away,
Like any summer day.

poem by Theodore Roethke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Boy And The Skylark

A FABLE.
'A wicked action fear to do,
When you are by yourself; for though
You think you can conceal it,
A little bird that's in the air
The hidden trespass shall declare,
And openly reveal it.'

Richard this saying oft had heard,
Until the sight of any bird
Would set his heart a-quaking;
He saw a host of wingëd spies
For ever o'er him in the skies,
Note of his actions taking.

This pious precept, while it stood
In his remembrance, kept him good
When nobody was by him;
For though no human eye was near,
Yet Richard still did wisely fear
The little bird should spy him.

But best resolves will sometimes sleep;
Poor frailty will not always keep
From that which is forbidden;
And Richard, one day, left alone,
Laid hands on something not his own,
And hoped the theft was hidden.

His conscience slept a day or two,
As it is very apt to do
When we with pains suppress it:
And though at times a slight remorse
Would raise a pang, it had not force
To make him yet confess it.

When on a day, as he abroad
Walked by his mother, in their road
He heard a skylark singing;
Smit with the sound, a flood of tears
Proclaimed the superstitious fears
His inmost bosom wringing.

His mother, wondering, saw him cry,
And fondly asked the reason why;
Then Richard made confession,
And said, he feared the little bird
He singing in the air had heard
Was telling his transgression.

The words which Richard spoke below,
As sounds by nature upwards go,
Were to the skylark carried;
The airy traveller with surprise
To hear his sayings, in the skies
On his mid journey tarried.

His anger then the bird exprest:
'Sure, since the day I left the nest,
I ne'er heard folly uttered
So fit to move a skylark's mirth,
As what this little son of earth
Hath in his grossness muttered.

'Dull fool! to think we sons of air
On man's low actions waste a care,
His virtues or his vices;
Or soaring on the summer gales,
That we should stoop to carry tales
Of him or his devices!

'Our songs are all of the delights
We find in our wild airy flights,
And heavenly exaltation;
The earth you mortals have at heart
Is all too gross to have a part
In skylark's conversation.

'Unless it be in what green field
Or meadow we our nest may build,
Midst flowering broom, or heather;
From whence our new-fledged offspring may
With least obstruction wing their way
Up to the walks of ether.

'Mistaken fool! man needs not us
His secret merits to discuss,
Or spy out his transgression;
When once he feels his conscience stirred,
That voice within him is the bird
That moves him to confession.'

poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Jerusalem Drenched In Blood

jerusalem
halleluya
the promised land
oor messiah

jerusalem
drenched in blood
religious fanatics
murder for god

halleluya
halleluya
jerusalem
drenched in blood

halleluya
halleluya
killing
in the name o god

jesus christ
king david
yahweh
mohammed

irgun
betah
hamas
al queda

halleluya
halleluya
jerusalem
drenched in blood

halleluya
halleluya
killing
in the name o god

poem by John Mcleish
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Remembered

She sang, and I listened the whole song thro'.
(It was sweet, so sweet, the singing.)
The stars were out and the moon it grew
From a wee soft glimmer way out in the blue
To a bird thro' the heavens winging.

She sang, and the song trembled down to my breast,--
(It was sweet, so sweet the singing.)
As a dove just out of its fledgling nest,
And, putting its wings to the first sweet test,
Flutters homeward so wearily winging.

She sang and I said to my heart 'That song,
That was sweet, so sweet i' the singing,
Shall live with us and inspire us long,
And thou, my heart, shalt be brave and strong
For the sake of those words a-winging.'

The woman died and the song was still.
(It was sweet, so sweet, the singing.)
But ever I hear the same low trill,
Of the song that shakes my heart with a thrill,
And goes forever winging.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Before Winter

The wind is crying in the night,
Like a lost child;
The waves break wonderful and white
And wild.
The drenched sea-poppies swoon along
The drenched sea-wall,
And there's an end of summer and of song -
An end of all.

The fingers of the tortured boughs
Gripped by the blast
Clutch at the windows of your house
Closed fast.
And the lost child of love, despair,
Cries in the night,
Remembering how once those windows were
Open and bright.

poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Sermon of the Birds

I was clearing thirty or forty acres once
Out in the western range near Nightcap Mountain.
And as I was working, I heard a gathering of the crows
Singing out in a jungle gully. Their clamorous cries
Drawed the attention of all the other birds.
Jackass and butcher-bird, soldier-bird, sparrow-bird,
Scrub-robin, magpie, and the black and white cockatoo,
They all flew down to the crows in the jungle-gully.

And I followed after their clamour, and in the midst
Of all the splendid excitement of the birds
I heard one feller was singing above them all.
It was the lyre-bird, the mimic of all the scrub,
And they held this beautiful sermon or half an hour.
The birds would stop and listen a while but still
That beautiful voice, the lyre-bird, would keep on singing
And draw then and join them all to a chorus again.

And as I stood there and listened, the Scriptures was
Hitting me all the time. The sermon seemed
Like the prophecy when Christ shall come and summon
The birds, the valleys, the hills, the mountains and the ocean
To sing in praise of the grace and the reckoning day,
And the beauty of earth in the splendour that He crated.
And I went back and told my people of what I had seen,
And the sermon of praise I heard in the mountain range.

poem by Roland Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Drenched

I am drenched in misery because of your love,
But the coral of pearls will give me hope;
I am drenched in misery because of your acts,
But the topaz of Ethhiopia will lead me on;
And i will press the oil within the walls of your love one day,
For i will still love you even if the moon is not bright!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Sha La La

Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Walking out quite late one night
Not feeling happy or feeling down
In the dark I stumbled over something on the ground
As I got to my feet
I heard a strange voice singing low
Shout out a song I wont forget
Until my dying day I know
She said
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
When I heard her singing
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
First my impulse was to run
But then the magic caught my ear
An unforgettable refrain
A song for all the year
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Well then I heard her singing
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
In despair I cried out loudly
Begging for her to come out
Suddenly has it began
The sha la song died out
At last I realized who had sung it
Quite amazed I turned to see
The tall trees waving me goodbye
The sha la song and me
They sought me
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
And then I heard her singing
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la
Sha, la, la

song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

In the Vale of Llangollen

In the fields and the lanes again!
There's a bird that sings in my ear
Messages, messages;
The green cool song that I long to hear.

It pipes to me out of a tree
Messages, messages;
This is the voice of the sunshine,
This is the voice of grass and the trees.

It is the joy of Earth
Out of the heaven of the trees:
The voice of a bird in the sunshine singing me
Messages, messages.

poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

With Oars at Rest

A boat is beating in the breast of the lake.
Willows hang over, tickling and kissing
Neckline and knuckles and rowlocks-O wait,
This could have happened to anyone, listen!

This could be used in a song, to beguile.
This then would mean-the ashes of lilac,
Richness of dew-drenched and crushed camomile,
Bartering lips for a start after twilight.

This is-embracing the firmament; strong
Hercules holding it, clasping still fonder.
This then would mean-whole centuries long
Fortunes for nightingales' singing to squander.

poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!