If I were to Own
f I were to own this countryside
As far as a man in a day could ride,
And the Tyes were mine for giving or letting, -
Wingle Tye and Margaretting
Tye, - and Skreens, Gooshays, and Cockerells,
Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, and Pickerells,
Martins, Lambkins, and Lillyputs,
Their copses, ponds, roads, and ruts,
Fields where plough-horses steam and plovers
Fling and whimper, hedges that lovers
Love, and orchards, shrubberies, walls
Where the sun untroubled by north wind falls,
And single trees where the thrush sings well
His proverbs untranslatable,
I would give them all to my son
If he would let me any one
For a song, a blackbird's song, at dawn.
He should have no more, till on my lawn
Never a one was left, because I
Had shot them to put them into a pie, -
His Essex blackbirds, every one,
And I was left old and alone.
Then unless I could pay, for rent, a song
As sweet as a blackbird's, and as long -
No more - he should have the house, not I
Margaretting or Wingle Tye,
Or it might be Skreens, Gooshays, or Cockerells,
Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, or Pickerells,
Martins, Lambkins, or Lillyputs,
Should be his till the cart tracks had no ruts.
poem by Edward Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Its Not A Song
Day turns to night, and I turn into bed.
Cant get to sleep; somethings in my head.
Pacing the floor, I try to force a rhyme.
Why do I fear this time?
Its not a song till it touches your heart.
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Now close your eyes; look into your hand.
What do you see?
Life is our song, to give and learn to take.
Time will not wait.
Oh, wont you please come dance,
While the songs still playing,
Wont be long till the silence falls.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
Its not a song till it touches your heart. (its not a song.)
Its not a song till it tears you apart.
After whats left of whats right and whats wrong,
Till it gets through to you,
Its not a song.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Good Friend To Me
The gold billed blackbird whistling upon the the garden tree
For the past few years a good neighbour to me
He whistles every day all through the Spring
And his song to it has a distinctive ring.
From the other all dark males of his race him I know
Since on his left wing a few flight feathers white as snow
He tells other males of his kind in his song
This patch of ground to me and mine belong.
Each time I hear the blackbird pipe and sing
My thoughts return to the far northern Spring
On Spring evenings in groves by Millstreet Town
The blackbirds pipe before the sun goes down.
The blackbird whistling on the wattle tree
He only sings to proclaim territory
His neighbour males the warning in his song hear
And his border they dare not venture near.
The blackbird in the garden a good friend to me
I know him by sight each time him I see
By the few white feathers on his left side wing
And his song it takes me to the Northern Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Little Black Bird: A Poem For The Other Woman
the little black bird
goes home in a cave
just below her belly
between
her legs
it sings about love
that she always kills
for nothing
before midnight the
blackbird flies
seeking the warmth
of other blackbirds
it is cold and
dying
in her keeping
now she sings alone
like a blackbird
cursing
the trees and the flowers
she wants to disown the
blackbird
in exchange for the
earthworm
she likes it that way
wriggling
without any feet at all
pointed and
penetrating
the curse continues
it can never be hers
and the blackbird
keeps coming back
mocking her like
an old man
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Blackbird's Song
The blackbird's song it takes me far away
To northern Land and to a distant day
His kin birds sang all day until sundown
In leafy groves just out of Millstreet Town.
A blackbird piping on a blackwood tree
Awake the nostalgic memories in me
Again I walk the lush green fields in Spring
And hear the wild birds on the hedgerows sing.
Bluebells bloom by the hedge by the bohreen
And cock pheasant often heard though seldom seen
In the knee high rushes clap his wings and crow
By their calls and songs the birds you get to know.
The distance from the home fields may be long
But whenever the migrant hear the blackbird's song
He or she will see the lushness brought by rain
And walk through fields where wild flowers bloom again.
To it the blackbird's song has a nostalgic ring
It takes the migrant to a distant Spring
And though far distant the Homeland near 'twould seem
And the dipper's song is echoing in the stream.
I thought this thing nostalgia I'd outgrown
But the blackbird's song it carries me back home
And I walk the high fields where I walked before
Up to the hill through the wood at Claramore
poem by Francis Duggan
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To hear a blackbird sing
To hear a blackbird sing is such a pleasure to our ears
so full of promise, hope and without fear
there he stands so proud and at ease
as whispers blow along a summers breeze
of memories of long summers past
like warm still evenings upon the mind that last
of frantic family BBQ's with much chat and laughter
the blackbird sings of happy ever after
Their songs are so similar to angels sighs that blow
always for joy, not to boast or glow
if you are ever sat troubled remember those days
sat in the garden of a summers golden haze
single out the blackbird and listen to his joy of each day
and hold it close to your heart, for always
for no matter what joy or difficulties life brings
we can always rely on the joy in the way a blackbird sings
From the stillness of dusk to the glory of dawn
the promise of life like the birth of a fawn
songs that burst forth from the darkness to light
lifting us from the depths to a future so bright
it doesn't matter how down we can be
his song brings us hope for all to see
wherever we are, wherever we go
the blackbird will always be there with the best darn show!
poem by Alison Drew
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Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.
III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.
IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.
V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.
VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.
VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.
XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.
XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.
XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The Blackbird
Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny showers o' spring,-
Vor all the lark, a-swingen high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky,
An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough, -
The blackbird, whisslen in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.
Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippen win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,
But dreve light doust along between
The leane-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gayest zong.
'Tis blithe, wi' newly-opened eyes,
To zee the mornen's ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulen frith or lops
Vrom new-pleshed hedge or new-velled copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-barked woak-trees' heads;
But there's noo time, the whole day long,
Lik' evenen wi' the blackbird's zong.
Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zetten o' the zun,
Then blushen Jeane do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An' stay till all is dim an' dark
Bezides the ashen tree's white bark;
An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill
An' runnen evenen-whissle's still.
An' there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi' pryen eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meade
O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheade;
Or climb aloft, wi' clingen knees,
Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees,
While frightened blackbirds down below
Did chatter o' their little foe.
An' zoo there's noo pleace lik' the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.
poem by William Barnes
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Old Love Song
Bob morrison/alice kiester
You know better and I know better, lets do it anyway
Throw our hearts into the wind and let the music play
One more time, for old times sake where could we go wrong?
We know every word by heart, come on, lets sing our our love song
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, sha la la, love song we can find the harmony and sing it all night long
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, sha la la, love song sing it sweet and sing it low, till all the musics gone
Theres no telling what could happen if it happens right
We may just turn the record over and let it play all night
Its got an old familiar feeling made you sing along
Theres no sweeter melody come sing this old love song with me
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, sha la la, love song we can find the harmony and sing it all night long
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, sha la la, love song sing it sweet and sing it low, till all the musics gone
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, sha la la, love song
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, sha la la, love song
Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, sha la la, love song.....
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Love Is Diagnosed with a Serious Illness
I love to listen when the blackbird sings
His sweet, sweet song which always brings
New hope to the heart, but what can I say,
There is such sorrow at the end of the day
As he lies there suffering with his broken wings! !
You bring me joy and lighten my heart
When I see you again after being apart,
So I think it's one of the most terrible things
That, like my blackbird, you have broken wings!
I curse the gods who give us such pain,
Who ruin our lives and drive men insane.
What the doctor told you is bound to depress
You, it's horrible and I must confess
I don't know what I can do, unless
You accept my love, because my heart says 'Yes,
I love you much more than you'll ever guess,
And I wish I could help you out of this mess! ! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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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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Song of the World
such a wonderful song
song of life
song of death
wedding song
famine song
happy song
sad song
love song
all-american song
bullshit song
druggie song
girls' song
sweet song
crazy song
MY song
poem by Rachel Stoddard
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Don't Know What You Got
I can't tell ya baby what went wrong
I can't make you feel what you felt so long ago
I'll let it show
I can't give you back what's been hurt
Heartaches come and go and all that's left are the words
I can't let go
If we take some time to think it over baby
Take some time, let me know
If you really want to go
Don't know what you got till it's gone
Don't know what it is i did so wrong
Now i know what i got
It's just this song
And it ain't easy to get back
Takes so long
I can't feel the things that cause you pain
I can't clear my heart of your love it falls like rain
Ain't the same
I hear you calling far away
Tearing through my soul i just can't take another day
Who's to blame
If we take some time to think it over baby
Take some time let me know
If you really wanna go
Don't know what you got till it's gone
Don't know what it is i did so wrong
Now i know what i got
It's just this song
And it ain't easy to get back
Takes so long
Do you wanna see me beggin' baby
Can't you give me just one more day
Can't you see my heart's been draggin' lately
I've been lookin' for the words to say
Don't know what you got till it's gone
Don't know what it is i did so wrong
Now i know what i got
It's just this song
And it ain't easy to get back
Takes so long
Don't know what you got till it's gone no
Don't know what it is i did so wrong
Now i know what i got
It's just this song
And it ain't easy to get back
Takes so long
song performed by by Cinderella
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nightingale Near The House
Here is the soundless cypress on the lawn:
It listens, listens. Taller trees beyond
Listen. The moon at the unruffled pond
Stares. And you sing, you sing.
That star-enchanted song falls through the air
From lawn to lawn down terraces of sound,
Darts in white arrows on the shadowed ground;
And all the night you sing.
My dreams are flowers to which you are a bee
As all night long I listen, and my brain
Receives your song, then loses it again
In moonlight on the lawn.
Now is your voice a marble high and white,
Then like a mist on fields of paradise,
Now is a raging fire, then is like ice,
Then breaks, and it is dawn.
poem by Harold Monro
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Spring's Messengers
Where slanting banks are always with the sun
The daisy is in blossom even now;
And where warm patches by the hedges run
The cottager when coming home from plough
Brings home a cowslip root in flower to set.
Thus ere the Christmas goes the spring is met
Setting up little tents about the fields
In sheltered spots.--Primroses when they get
Behind the wood's old roots, where ivy shields
Their crimpled, curdled leaves, will shine and hide.
Cart ruts and horses' footings scarcely yield
A slur for boys, just crizzled and that's all.
Frost shoots his needles by the small dyke side,
And snow in scarce a feather's seen to
poem by John Clare
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The Song Of An African
The Song Builds
The Song Destroys
The Song Dispenses
In Suspence The Song Reveals
In Time I Sing It
At Times I Bring It
To The Bank Near To My Heart
I Lie Awake With My Sleeping Eyes
And The Song Sings Herself
The Lyric Sings Himself
The My Mind Braniwashed With Honey To My Ears
The Song Feeds
The Song Provides Seeds
With Knowledge It Is Food.
With Wisdom Declared Wate
The Song Heals
And Yes In Pays The Bilss
For Long Named It Belief
So Long Came To My Mind Hardwork
Percevearance Its Clan To Tribe Success
The Song Is Mine
Oh Yes It Is.
poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
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The Blackbird Metaphor
the Beatles had it
as the struggle for freedom of the blacks
that blackbird singing in the dark
wanting to be free
the Americans
had that blackbird swirling in Vietnam
that chopper that saved lives
that war that caused them humiliation
in the world's opinion
that lie of Nixon
Steven Wallace had eight ways of seeing
that blackbird
Noah sent that blackbird
that did not come back since it was happy
picking on the rotten flesh
of the remains of the dead
the ninth way
of seeing
disobedience
One writes again about the blackbird
that lives singing the songs of neurosis
in his mind
at winter time
The poet commits suicide
His colleagues bury him
with eulogies and ' what ifs'
One sleeps with a blackbird
The other sings with a blackbird
Someone flew away with a blackbird
and did not come back
since then
So many stories
So many poems are written
Now i have to write about this blackbird too
But there shall be no disturbance
No unhappy ending
I swear to you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When on a Summer's Morn
When on a summer's morn I wake,
And open my two eyes,
Out to the clear, born-singing rills
My bird-like spirit flies.
To hear the Blackbird, Cuckoo, Thrush,
Or any bird in song;
And common leaves that hum all day
Without a throat or tongue.
And when Time strikes the hour for sleep,
Back in my room alone,
My heart has many a sweet bird's song --
And one that's all my own.
poem by William Henry Davies
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The early blackbird
A blackbird has been sitting outside the window
for some time this morning, and
I’m trying to tune in to its blackbird thoughts,
if indeed it’s burdened with such tiresome
delaying tactics to action…
it seems indecisive, though; evidently, plumply,
having well breakfasted; does
the head switching left, right,
a little slower than with alarm,
signify some Hamlet thought?
it could be wondering, if,
in view of what a blackbird would call
global warming rather than
an early summer,
it should sing?
since the early bird, it must have been
taught, or intuited, catches the first mate..
I try looking at it severe of mind,
as mindless tool of Evolution
(and yes, me too…)
only concerned with food and sex
and sex and food,
and other internet concerns
in cyber blackbird space…
but that goes nowhere in the mind..
I open the front door a crack,
whistle a poor imitation of a blackbird’s song;
it twists its head for a moment
as of impatience at some irrelevant comment;
flies off; returns; like I do, when
I’ve lost the train of thought
that sent me somewhere in the house
but have forgotten what it was…
I’ll keep an eye out for it tomorrow…
and turn back to the computer,
remembering Nicholas of Cusa
who says, there is no other:
always, we are looking
at the face of God…
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thread of Pain
Let the blue bird sings a song
A song that turns right from wrong
Song that commands the wind to blow
In order to fade away the sorrow.
The song that makes the rain falls
And let the trees stand tall
Takes and fades away the pain
When it is being washed out by the rain.
The birds that sings through out the years
Wipes away all the tears
And cuts away the thread of pain
In every countless dropp of the rain.
poem by Dustin Catingub
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A Song Without End
Love sings a song,
a song without end.
It can be heard
singing out from everything.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Young and old hearts flutter
whenever they hear its call.
The sad and the lonely
under its spell fall.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Whose chorus can be heard
as the breeze whispers
among the trees
and all hearts fall
under loves rhapsody.
25 August 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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