The Spell
OUR boat has drifted with the stream
That stirs the river's full sweet bosom
And now she stays where gold flags gleam
By meadow-sweet's pale foam of blossom.
Sedge-warblers sing the sun the song
The nightingale sings to the shadows;
Forget-me-nots grow all along
The fringes of the happy meadows.
See the wet lilies' golden beads!
The river-nymphs for necklace string them,
And in the sighing of the reeds
You hear the song their lovers sing them.
Gold sun, blue air, green shimmering leaves,
The weir's old song--the wood's old story--
Such spells the enchanting Summer weaves
She holds me in a web of glory.
And you--with head against my arm
And subtle wiles that seek to hold me--
Not even you can add a charm
To the sweet sorceries that enfold me.
Yet lean there still! The hour is ours;
If we should move the charm might shiver
And joyless sun and scentless flowers
Might mock a disenchanted river.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Medway Song
(Air: Carnaval de Venise)
LET Housman sing of Severn shore,
Of Thames let Arnold sing,
But we will sing no river more
Save this where crowbars ring.
Let others sing of Henley,
Of fashion and renown,
But we will sing the thirteen locks
That lead to Tonbridge town!
Then sing the Kentish river,
The Kentish fields and flowers,
We waste no dreams on other streams
Who call the Medway ours.
When on the level golden meads
The evening sunshine lies,
The little voles among the reeds
Look out with wondering eyes.
The patient anglers linger
The placid stream beside,
Where still with towering tarry prow
The stately barges glide.
Then sing the Kentish river,
The Kentish fields and flowers,
We waste no dreams on other streams
Who call the Medway ours.
On Medway banks the May droops white,
The wild rose blossoms fair,
O'er meadow-sweet and loosestrife bright,
For water nymphs to wear.
And mid the blowing rushes
Pan pipes a joyous song,
And woodland things peep from the shade
As soft we glide along.
Then sing the Kentish river,
The Kentish fields and flowers,
We waste no dreams on other streams
Who call the Medway ours.
You see no freight on Medway boats
Of fashions fine and rare,
But happy men in shabby coats,
And girls with wind-kissed hair.
The world's a pain forgotten,
And very far away,
The stream that flows, the boat that goes--
These are our world to-day.
Then sing the Kentish river,
The Kentish fields and flowers,
We waste no dreams on other streams
Who call the Medway ours.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Black Muddy River
When the last rose of summer pricks my finger,
And the hot sun chills me to the bone,
When I cant hear the song for the singer,
And I cant tell my pillow from a stone,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own.
When the last bolt of sunshine hits the mountain,
And the stars start to splatter in the sky,
When the moon hits the southwest horizon,
With the scream of an eagle on the fly,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And listen to the ripples as they moan,
I will walk alone by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own.
Black muddy river, roll on forever,
I dont care how deep or wide, if youve got another side,
Roll muddy river, roll muddy river, black muddy river, roll.
When it seems like the night will last forever,
And theres nothing left to do but count the years,
When the strings of my heart begin to sever,
And stones fall from my eyes instead of tears,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And dream me a dream of my own,
I will walk alone, by the black muddy river,
And sing me a song of my own, sing me a song of my own.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dual Divided
Quiet flows a small river
And a small boat floats on its silence.
Nothing goes wrong for some time-
Nothing goes wrong....
There blooms a flower on the face of the lone sailor
As the river recedes and his boat triumphs forward,
He begins to sing a song-
A sweet song...
Nothing goes wrong for some more time-
Nothing goes wrong.
A small wind blows,
It grows into a storm next,
The song stops for at once
And the boat turns upside down.
The sea emerges
And it embraces the river.
Nothing goes wrong.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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River Lilies
Saw a boy three lilies white,
Lilies in the river,
Half heart-open to the light,
Full of golden arrows bright,
Each a silver quiver.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Said the boy, “I’ll pluck you there,
Lilies in the river!”
Said the lilies, “If you dare
You shall drown, or homeward fare
Dripping and a-shiver!”
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
Wilful still the boy would clasp
Lilies in the river;
Tumbled in ere he could grasp,
Scrambled out with puff and gasp,
Plucked no lilies ever.
Lilies, lilies, lilies white,
Lilies in the river.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Brokedown Palace
Fare you well, my honey, fare you well my only true one.
All the birds that were singing are flown, except you alone.
Going to leave this brokedown palace,
On my hand and knees, I will roll, roll, roll.
Make myself a bed in the waterside,
In my time, I will roll, roll roll.
In a bed, in a bed, by the waterside I will lay my head.
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
River going to take me, sing sweet and sleepy,
Sing me sweet and sleepy all the way back home.
Its a far gone lullaby, sung many years ago.
Mama, mama many worlds Ive come since I first left home.
Goin home, goin home, by the riverside I will rest my bones,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
Going to plant a weeping willow,
On the banks green edge it will grow, grow, grow.
Sing a lullaby beside the water,
Lovers come and go, the river roll, roll, roll.
Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweet Music Man
I didn't listen, and I couldn't see,
And all I have left now,
Are words she gave to me
Sing me a song sweet music man,
'Cause I won't be there to hold your hand
Like I used to,
I'm through with you
You touched my soul with your beautiful song
You even had me singing along right with you
You said "I needed you"
But then you changed the words and that harmony
And you sang that song you'd written for me
To someone new
But nobody sings a love song quite like you do,
And nobody else can make me sing along,
And nobody else can make me feel
That things are right when they're wrong,
Nobody sings a love song quite like you.
Sing me a song sweet music man,
Your making a living doing one night stands
that do for you what you need them to
Your still a hell of a singer but a broken man
And you surround yourself with people who demand
So little of you
But nobody sings a love song quite like you do,
And nobody else can make me sing along,
And nobody else can make me feel,
That things are right when they're wrong
with a song,
Nobody sings a love song quite like you.
So sing me a song sad music man,
I believe in you
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This River
this river is a wide and long stretch
of brown dreams
it is silent its ripples are like moving threads
it has a song of its own
that only your heart can sing
we sail this river again
this ealy morning when the sun still hides itself
in the nipa palms
we sit side by side as the boat takes its time
we hold our hands
we are still lovers throught the years
we look forward to the same direction
it will not take that long
at the end we will see again the cascades
we will hear the flow of the mountain springs
we will again remember
the harmony of what we once were
do you hear that cascading song of the water?
that is the song of the river that in my heart i always treasure
together and forever
we will cascade, my love, like this long, brown river to the sea
of our daily affections
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sweet Music Man
Sing a song sweet music man
cause I wont be there to hold your hand like I used to
Im through with you
Youre a heck of a singer and powerful man
But you surround yourself with people
Who demand so little of you
You touched my soul with your beautiful song
You even had me singin along right with you
You said I need you
Then you changed the words and added harmony
Then you sang the song you had written for me to someone new
Oh, but nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Oh, and nobody else can make me sing along
Nobody else can make me feel things are right
When I know theyre wrong
Nobody sings a love song quite like you
Sing your song sweet music man
Travel the world with a six piece band
That does for you what you tell em to
And you try to stay young but the songs are sung
To so many people whove all begun came back on you
Sing your song sad music man
Makin your living doing one-night stands
Theyre through with you
They dont need you
Youre still a heck of a singer but a broken man
But youll keep on lookin for one last fan to sing to
Oh, and nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Oh, and nobody else can make me sing along
And nobody else can make me feel things are right
When theyre wrong with a song
Nobody sings a love song quite like you
Tag:
Sing your song sweet music man
I believe in you
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Musical Instrument
What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
And the broken lilies a-dying lay,
And the dragon-fly had fled away,
Ere he brought it out of the river.
High on the shore sat the great god Pan
While turbidly flowed the river;
And hacked and hewed as a great god can,
With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed,
Till there was not a sign of the leaf indeed
To prove it fresh from the river.
He cut it short, did the great god Pan,
(How tall it stood in the river!)
Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
And notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sat by the river.
'This is the way,' laughed the great god Pan
(Laughed while he sat by the river),
'The only way, since gods began
To make sweet music, they could succeed.'
Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,
He blew in power by the river.
Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan!
Piercing sweet by the river!
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly
Came back to dream on the river.
Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,
To laugh as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man:
The true gods sigh for the cost and pain, --
For the reed which grows nevermore again
As a reed with the reeds in the river.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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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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Septic Sky
So the purpose has all gone under
Hark ‘twas only sound, more thunder
Better sing a song!
So the moon’s gone and always stays frozen
An’ caps melt as if Neptune ‘twasn’t spoken
Better sing a song!
So the sun-crack rests born hot gloat-blind blazing
An’ poor kid’s gone film, all pill-cream phasing
Better sing a song!
So sea goes all belch an’ tidal-wave a rising
And nothing seems really that surprising
Better sing a song!
So the nights seep evensong too long
An’ endless battle, negativity throng
Better sing a song!
So the morning break spills cloak darkness
An’ some sparrow hath no tail, nor larkness
Better sing a song!
So the people stream on shift rapid’s red river
And brooks are all now ran, but a dying shiver
Better sing a song!
So Blake’s womb lays hollow hid a fairy spoken
The wonder of life lock shat flimsily rag-art token
Better sing a song!
So this is where it end then go do proud that shimmy
I’ll take tall my friend; ‘nother done an’ hunter Jimi:
Better wring this song!
poem by L.A. Kenton
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In Fancy The Song Of The Dipper
In fancy the song of the dipper I hear
The river he sings in to my thoughts are near
With snow white breast and mostly dark brown
As he sing on a rock midst the rapids he bobs up and down
A beautiful to look at bird with a plain enough song
Once seen and once heard him you never get wrong
As birds go one might say a stranger to renown
He lives and breeds in the river that flows by the town
'Tis part of his natural duty for him to help his dipper wife
For to raise their young dippers for a river life
And in Seasons from now when the life from him long gone
The song of the dipper in the river lives on
In fancy I can hear him singing today
And the river he sings in from me doesn't seem far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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The river's song
The river's song
~
There's a song in the river
that streams from mountains and rain
it plays upon rocks and riverbanks
the birds and fish know it well
it flows effortless in a rhythm
pitched by its own will
a rolling waltz, serenely sweet
feeds the thirsty trees
there's a song in the river
an acoustic serenade
the endless symphony
where unwritten words decree
that there is music here
tide eventually to the sea
insects dance upon each note
while sticks and leaves
twirl away to its beat
there's a song in the river
and it plays for free
poem by Matthew Holloway
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My Playmate
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,
Their song was soft and low;
The blossoms in the sweet May wind
Were falling like the snow.
The blossoms drifted at our feet,
The orchard birds sang clear;
The sweetest and the saddest day
It seemed of all the year.
For, more to me than birds or flowers,
My playmate left her home,
And took with her the laughing spring,
The music and the bloom.
She kissed the lips of kith and kin,
She laid her hand in mine
What more could ask the bashful boy
Who fed her father's kine?
She left us in the bloom of May
The constant years told o'er
Their seasons with as sweet May morns,
But she came back no more.
I walk, with noiseless feet, the round
Of uneventful years;
Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring
And reap the autumn ears.
She lives where all the golden year
Her summer roses blow;
The dusky children of the sun
Before her come and go.
There haply with her jewelled hands
She smooths her silken gown,-
No more the homespun lap wherein
I shook the walnuts down.
The wild grapes wait us by the brook,
The brown nuts on the hill,
And still the May-day flowers make sweet
The woods of Follymill.
The lilies blossom in the pond,
The bird builds in the tree,
The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill
The slow song of the sea.
I wonder if she thinks of them,
And how the old time seems,-
If ever the pines of Ramoth wood
Are sounding in her dreams.
I see her face, I hear her voice;
Does she remember mine?
And what to her is now the boy
Who fed her father's kine?
What cares she that the orioles build
For other eyes than ours,-
That other hands with nuts are filled,
And other laps with flowers?
O playmate in the golden time!
Our mossy seat is green,
Its fringing violets blossom yet,
The old trees o'er it lean.
The winds so sweet with birch and fern
A sweeter memory blow;
And there in spring the veeries sing
The song of long ago.
And still the pines of Ramoth wood
Are moaning like the sea,-
The moaning of the sea of change
Between myself and thee!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Pleasant As May
Writer Dolly Parton
Copyright 1973
The mid summer sun shines but dim the fields try in vain to look gay
But when I was happy with him December was pleasant as May
There once was a time he and I picked flowers to braid in my hair
And the songbirds would sing sweet song of love that was tender and fair
No difference the seasons may quit our love was as warm as the sun
And it mattered not where did the snow
Or green grass kissed the fields where we'd run
Now the mid summer sun shines...
Sweet flowers sweet birds and sweet song have now lost their sweetness to me
For ever my darling is gone and for ever my heartbroken I'll be
Now the mid summer sun shines...
The mid summer sun shines but dim mmm
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chains Invisible
THE lilies in my garden grow,
Wide meadows ring my garden round,
In that green copse wild violets blow,
And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are found.
For all you see and all you hear,
The city might be miles away,
And yet you feel the city near
Through all the quiet of the day.
Sweet smells the earth--wet with sweet rain--
Sweet lilac waves in moonlight pale,
And from the wood beyond the lane
I hear the hidden nightingale.
Though field and wood about me lie,
Hushed soft in dew and deep delight,
Yet can I hear the city's sigh
Through all the silence of the night.
For me the skylark builds and sings,
For me the vine her garland weaves;
The swallow folds her glossy wings
To build beneath my cottage eaves.
But I can feel the giant near,
Can hear his slaves by daylight weep,
And when at last the night is here,
I hear him moaning in his sleep.
Oh! for a little space of ground,
Though not a flower should make it gay,
Where miles of meadows wrapped me round,
And leagues and leagues of silence lay.
Oh! for a wind-lashed, treeless down,
A black night and a rising sea,
And never a thought of London town,
To steal the world's delight from me.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Music Man
Sing your song sweet music man
Cuz I won't be there to hold your hand
Like I used to
I'm through with you
You're a hell of a singer and a powerful man
But you surround yourself with people who demand so little of you
You touched my -heart- (its suposed to be soul) with your beautiful song
You even had me singing along right with you
You said I need you
Then you changed the words and added harmony
And you sang the song you had written for to someone new
~Chorus~
Nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Nobody else can make me sing along
Nobody else can make me feel that things are right when I know they're wrong
Nobody sings a love song quite like you
~
Sing your song sweet music man
You travel the world with your six-piece band
That does for you
What you ask them to
You try to stay young but the songs you've sung to so many people
They've all begun to come back on you
Sing your song sad music man
Your making your living doin one night stands
They're through with you
They don't need you
You're still a hell of a singer but a broken man
But you'll keep searching for that one last fan
To sing to
~Chorus~
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The soul, song of love
The soul, song of love
I sing from the bottom of my heart
The soul song, I sing I cry I laugh
I cheer I love enjoy
Too sing for you to hear me cry
Sweet heart listen be happy
Tune penetrate into flesh to bone
To feel to touch
To get to hold
The heart sings the soul, song of love
Just to let you know only you I love
Only you I sing only you can hear
For love for comfort
For peace and happiness
Hold and touch
The soul, song of you
The soul, the song belong to you
with the heart
poem by See Fee Lee
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What Does It Show
What does it show
When a cold wind does blow
And a robin, sings you a song,
Are you in love
Or are you just a hug
Looking for a love for so long.
So what does it mean
After that you have seen
A robing singing a song,
Do you think of the past
And the love you thought would last
And think of the love that ran away,
So when you listen to the robin
And do you feel your heart throbbing
To a scene, you have received.
And while the cold wind just blows
And while the river still flows
Your feelings just grows and grow,
And if your sitting by the river
To a cold wind you begin to shiver
As you think of the things you've seen,
And the robin only sings
And in the mind her heart rings
To the feeling that you have been,
So sing her a song
And with you she’ll sing along
With you, and the world aloud.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Revisited
The roll of drums and the bugle's wailing
Vex the air of our vales-no more;
The spear is beaten to hooks of pruning,
The share is the sword the soldier wore!
Sing soft, sing low, our lowland river,
Under thy banks of laurel bloom;
Softly and sweet, as the hour beseemeth,
Sing us the songs of peace and home.
Let all the tenderer voices of nature
Temper the triumph and chasten mirth,
Full of the infinite love and pity
For fallen martyr and darkened hearth.
But to Him who gives us beauty for ashes,
And the oil of joy for mourning long,
Let thy hills give thanks, and all thy waters
Break into jubilant waves of song!
Bring us the airs of hills and forests,
The sweet aroma of birch and pine,
Give us a waft of the north-wind laden
With sweethrier odors and breath of kine!
Bring us the purple of mountain sunsets,
Shadows of clouds that rake the hills,
The green repose of thy Plymouth meadows,
The gleam and ripple of Campton rills.
Lead us away in shadow and sunshine,
Slaves of fancy, through all thy miles,
The winding ways of Pemigewasset,
And Winnipesaukee's hundred isles.
Shatter in sunshine over thy ledges,
Laugh in thy plunges from fall to fall;
Play with thy fringes of elms, and darken
Under the shade of the mountain wall.
The cradle-song of thy hillside fountains
Here in thy glory and strength repeat;
Give us a taste of thy upland music,
Show us the dance of thy silver feet.
Into thy dutiful life of uses
Pour the music and weave the flowers;
With the song of birds and bloom of meadows
Lighten and gladden thy heart and ours.
Sing on! bring down, O lowland river,
The joy of the hills to the waiting sea;
The wealth of the vales, the pomp of mountains,
The breath of the woodlands, bear with thee.
Here, in the calm of thy seaward, valley,
Mirth and labor shall hold their truce;
Dance of water and mill of grinding,
Both are beauty and both are use.
Type of the Northland's strength and glory,
Pride and hope of our home and race,--
Freedom lending to rugged labor
Tints of beauty and lines of grace.
Once again, O beautiful river,
Hear our greetings and take our thanks;
Hither we come, as Eastern pilgrims
Throng to the Jordan's sacred banks.
For though by the Master's feet untrodden,
Though never His word has stilled thy waves,
Well for us may thy shores be holy,
With Christian altars and saintly graves.
And well may we own thy hint and token
Of fairer valleys and streams than these,
Where the rivers of God are full of water,
And full of sap are His healing trees!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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