Related quotes: For ever, since my childish...

Minstrelsy

For ever, since my childish looks
Could rest on Nature's pictured books;
For ever, since my childish tongue
Could name the themes our bards have sung;
So long, the sweetness of their singing
Hath been to me a rapture bringing!
Yet ask me not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.

I know that much whereof I sing,
Is shapen but for vanishing;
I know that summer's flower and leaf
And shine and shade are very brief,
And that the heart they brighten, may,
Before them all, be sheathed in clay! --
I do not know the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.

A few there are, whose smile and praise
My minstrel hope, would kindly raise:
But, of those few -- Death may impress
The lips of some with silentness;
While some may friendship's faith resign,
And heed no more a song of mine. --
Ask not, ask not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.

The sweetest song that minstrels sing,
Will charm not Joy to tarrying;
The greenest bay that earth can grow,
Will shelter not in burning woe;
A thousand voices will not cheer,
When one is mute that aye is dear! --
Is there, alas! no reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.

I do not know! The turf is green
Beneath the rain's fast-dropping sheen,
Yet asks not why that deeper hue
Doth all its tender leaves renew; --
And I, like-minded, am content,
While music to my soul is sent,
To question not the reason why
I have delight in minstrelsy.

Years pass -- my life with them shall pass:
And soon, the cricket in the grass
And summer bird, shall louder sing
Than she who owns a minstrel's string.
Oh then may some, the dear and few,
Recall her love, whose truth they knew;
When all forget to question why
She had delight in minstrelsy!

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Delight

Anytime that you fall asleep
I'm wide awake
Anytime that you leave your house
I'm waiting at the gate
I'm not angry anymore
Come on and show your soul
I'd love to hang it on the wall
Framed for me
Anytime that you smile
I know that's really you
Anytime that you laugh you know that
I'll be laughing too
But it's not funny anymore
Come on now where's your soul
Is that it crumpled on the floor
Is this blame on me
Delight Delight Delight Delight
Delight at least we know its name
Delight Delight Delight
Wouldn't it be nice to feel again
Delight Delight Delight
It's locked outside it won't be coming in
Anytime now you'll talk at least I hope you will
Anytime now you'll speak and you know
I'll be listening still
But we don't say much anymore
Come on tell it from your soul
Delight Delight Delight Delight
Delight at least we know its name
Delight Delight Delight
Wouldn't it be nice to feel again
Delight Delight Delight
It's locked outside it won't be coming in
Won't be coming in
Delight Delight

song performed by by Bic Runga from Drive
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sestina

I saw my soul at rest upon a day
As a bird sleeping in the nest of night,
Among soft leaves that give the starlight way
To touch its wings but not its eyes with light;
So that it knew as one in visions may,
And knew not as men waking, of delight.

This was the measure of my soul's delight;
It had no power of joy to fly by day,
Nor part in the large lordship of the light;
But in a secret moon-beholden way
Had all its will of dreams and pleasant night,
And all the love and life that sleepers may.

But such life's triumph as men waking may
It might not have to feed its faint delight
Between the stars by night and sun by day,
Shut up with green leaves and a little light;
Because its way was as a lost star's way,
A world's not wholly known of day or night.

All loves and dreams and sounds and gleams of night
Made it all music that such minstrels may,
And all they had they gave it of delight;
But in the full face of the fire of day
What place shall be for any starry light,
What part of heaven in all the wide sun's way?

Yet the soul woke not, sleeping by the way,
Watched as a nursling of the large-eyed night,
And sought no strength nor knowledge of the day,
Nor closer touch conclusive of delight,
Nor mightier joy nor truer than dreamers may,
Nor more of song than they, nor more of light.

For who sleeps once and sees the secret light
Whereby sleep shows the soul a fairer way
Between the rise and rest of day and night,
Shall care no more to fare as all men may,
But be his place of pain or of delight,
There shall he dwell, beholding night as day.

Song, have thy day and take thy fill of light
Before the night be fallen across thy way;
Sing while he may, man hath no long delight.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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I Love....

i love...
that's the reason i walk,
the reason i breathe.
the reason i grieve.
the reason i dance.
the reason i smile.
the reason i listen.
the reason i offer a hand.
the reason i see beauty.
the reason i see both darkness,
and light....
the reason i take chances.
the reason i keep going.
the reason i get angry.
the reason i forgive.
the reason i touch.
the reason i question.
the reason i believe.
the reason i am tolerant.
the reason i understand.
the reason i fall.
the reason i fly.
the reason i write...
the reason i am what i am!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Love's Alchemy

Some that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,
Say, where his centric happiness doth lie.
I have loved, and got, and told,
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,
I should not find that hidden mystery.
O! 'tis imposture all;
And as no chemic yet th' elixir got,
But glorifies his pregnant pot,
If by the way to him befall
Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,
So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,
But get a winter-seeming summer's night.

Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,
Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay?
Ends love in this, that my man
Can be as happy as I can, if he can
Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play?
That loving wretch that swears,
'Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,
Which he in her angelic finds,
Would swear as justly, that he hears,
In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.
Hope not for mind in women; at their best,
Sweetness and wit they are, but mummy, possess'd.

poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Love's Delight

Singing to my heart's delight
For I have no words to write
At the top of my voice
For all to hear
This is I, I am not shy
At least this is what they may think
I don't really care!
For my soul's delight
I sing of love and joy
Millions of miles across the sea
You lie in bed fast asleep
My song reaching you, a lullaby
Waking you gently with the same smile
Playing around my lips
Surrounding you with my love
Your heart beating fast for sensing me near

poem by Persian Khushi
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Syrinx

Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed,
Though now she's turned into a reed;
From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come,
A pipe that strikes Apollo dumb;
Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can
So chant it as the pipe of Pan:
Cross-gartered swains and dairy girls,
With faces smug and round as pearls,
When Pan's shrill pipe begins to play,
With dancing wear out night and day;
The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by,
When Pan sounds up his minstrelsy;
His minstrelsy! O base! this quill,
Which at my mouth with wind I fill,
Puts me in mind, though her I miss,
That still my Syrinx' lips I kiss.

poem by John Lyly
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A Passage In The Moriae Encomium Of Erasmus. Imitated

In awful pomp and melancholy state,
See settled Reason on the judgement-seat;
Around her crowd Distrust, and Doubt, and Fear,
And thoughtful Foresight, and tormenting Care;
Far from the throne the trembling Pleasures stand,
Chain'd up or exiled by her stern command.
Wretched her subjects, gloomy sits the queen,
Till happy chance reverts the cruel scene;
And apish Folly, with her wild resort
Of wit and jest, disturbs the solemn court.

See the fantastic Minstrelsy advance
To breathe the song and animate the dance.
Bless'd the usurper! happy the surprise!
Her mimic postures catch our eager eyes;
Her jingling bells affect our captive ear,
And in the sights we see and sounds we hear,
Against our judgement she our sense employs,
The laws of troubled reason she drestroys,
And in their place rejoices to indite
Wild schemes of mirth and plans of loose delight.

poem by Matthew Prior
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Green Delight

The green pastime
pastures sweet and tame
up in smoke today
sticky small green leaves
let me bit you up
we'll hit the streets
and fly like kites
colours soft and blue
pastel gel
me and you
go well together
lamb and shine
we melt ice and time
shelter me
peaceful green delight
you grow to please me
tease me
release me
enter me
satisfy me
green parade in my brain
I'm so alive
in the wonder of life
I love you
green delight

poem by Sara Winters
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Palm Sunday

Ye whose hearts are beating high
With the pulse of Poesy,
Heirs of more than royal race,
Fram’d by Heaven’s peculiar grace,
God’s own work to do on earth,
(If the word be not too bold,)
Giving virtue a new birth,
And a life that ne’er grows old—
Sovereign masters of all hearts!
Know ye, who hath set your parts?
He who gave you breath to sing,
By whose strength ye sweep the string,
He hath chosen you, to lead
His Hosannas here below;—
Mount, and claim your glorious meed;
Linger not with sin and woe.

But if ye should hold your peace,
Deem not that the song would cease—
Angels round his glory-throne,
Stars, His guiding hand that own,
Flowers, that grow beneath our feet,
Stones in earth’s dark womb that rest,
High and low in choir shall meet,
Ere His Name shall be unblest.

Lord, by every minstrel tongue
Be thy praise so duly sung,
That thine angels’ harps may ne’er
Fail to find fit echoing here:
We the while, of meaner birth,
Who in that divinest spell
Dare not hope to join on earth,
Give us grace to listen well.

But should thankless silence seal
Lips, that might half Heaven reveal,
Should bards in idol-hymns profane
The sacred soul-enthralling strain,
(As in this bad world below
Nobles things find vilest using,)
Then, thy power and mercy shew,
In vile things noble breath infusing;

Then waken into sound divine
The very pavement of thy shrine,
Till we, like Heaven’s star-sprinkled floor,
Faintly give back what we adore.
Childlike though the voices be,
And untunable the parts,
Thou wilt own the minstrelsy,
If it flow from childlike hearts.

poem by John Keble
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Song-Days

I sing a song so loud to liven up the day,
There the song ends to capitulate and stay.
The music of rhythm spoke a genius sound,
Where were the notes of music this round?

My mother sang songs to brighten up my night,
Tonight was a tournament, of sheer delight.
I would sing along, so longer than anything,
Yet yesterday the song was sung by her like everything.

My singing finished this place,
Opening the hearts of others in any space.
This favourite musical poem permitted me
To sing like my mother, and have all to see.

poem by Naveed Akram
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In Memoriam

A gentle loving thoughtful boy,
But happy gay and bright:
A gleam of sunshine from the sky
That filled a home with light.
And whether busied with his play
Throughout the passing summer day,
Or sleepless in the night
A simple song by children sung,
For ever in his memory rung,
Found gleeful utterance from his tongue
And filled him with delight —
'Jesus loves me — He will stay
Close beside me all the way.'

But now across the morning sky
The shade of night has rolled —
Lay all his little playthings by,
His hands are still and cold.
His loving eyes once bright as day
Are turning to their former clay —
No more:— the tale is told:
The soul has left that pulseless breast
For regions of eternal rest.
Ay but to die — a child, alone
Without a guard or guide
To launch into the vast unknown
Where shapeless phantoms glide,
To cross the gulf no bridge can span
To realms unseen by living man
All strange and yet untried.
With no familiar loved one near
To charm away his childish fear,
And give him one soft word of cheer
To break the dreary void.
Alas! conjecture seems to swim
And reason waxes faint and dim,
But faith affirms 'tis well with him
Whatever may betide.
Jesus loves him — He will stay
Close beside him all the way.

(February, 1879.)

poem by Joseph Furphy
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Sonnet 102: My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming

My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the show appear;
That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere.
Our love was new, and then but in the spring
When I was wont to greet it with my lays,
As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days—
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue,
Because I would not dull you with my song.

poem by William Shakespeare
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The Song (My Culture)

I Sing it with pride!
I sing it with love!
I sing it with origin!
I Sing it genuinely!

Allong strong delight,
Which neither divided or subtracted,
reveals my true identity in multiple,
it hypnotises the soul i begot from the soil,
distinguished amongst other songs,
cannot be languished!
cannot be banished!
Culture O! Song,

I Sang It Before!
I Sing It Now!
As I will sing it then!

Allong strong delight,
a part of a human art to my site,
you run away from the lyrics,
however draws you nearer with its pleasant noise,
when the wind blows,
just like fire it glows,
cannot waste its taste with conotation,
cannot erase its denotation,
I live by the song,
guided by it for so long,
Culture O! Song!

Like hip-hop
I Sing to,
Like Drums,
I Dance to it,
Like a book,
the story read never ends,
My Culture!
My Pride!

poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
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Roderic Quinn

No more will Rod his lyrics sing,
As tuneful as the thrush when Spring
With minstrel voice is calling;
As joyous as the gentle chime
Of bellbirds in the Summertime
From sylvan spires down-falling.

The harp is mute from which he drew
The magic of a music new
Of woods and golden beaches;
Its silent strings tell ne'er again
Enraptured tales of hill and plain
And gleaming river reaches.

But this fair land shall ever be
Indebted to his minstrelsy,
So, written on the portal
Of Art's proud temple, will his name
Go down forevermore in fame
Untarnished and immortal.

poem by Edwin James Brady
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No Strange Delight

(ferry/manzanera)
So there goes your life
Disappeared from ever loving friends
And now a slave to obsession
Your strange delight
You lie awake
How your senses ache
Shaking off the night
Is there more strange delight?
There goes your self
In the clear forever out of line
And there youll stay through obsession
Your strange delight
Cant bear this heat
You poor heart skips a beat
Tearing off the years
To when you really cared
So where's your soul?
In the field where every story ends
And then how plain your obsession
Your strange delight
So this is hell
Not so hard to tell
Better men than i
Have tried your strange delight
Is there no strange delight?

song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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