The sword sung on the barren heath...
The sword sung on the barren heath
The sickle in the fruitful field
The sword he sung a song of death
But could not make the sickle yield
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1793)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
A Song Thats Sung..
A song that's sung
tells more than a story
a song that's sung
is sung from the heart
a song that's sung
is a story from the soul
a song that's sung
is the greatest love
a song that's sung
is a give from above
a song that's sung
is an emotion in a melody
a song that's sung
can be whatever you want it to be
a song that's sung
can have a million meanings
a song that's sung
is a diary of emotions...
poem by Emily Summers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Song
I have no song
But still I sing
I let my voice
Fly on wing
For even though
My heart is bare
I have a song
Yet to spare
The song I sing
It has not one word
But far and wide
It's ever heard
My song is
Universal see
Song of wild
Always free
Sung by many
Sung by one
Sung beneath
A dying sun
Song of joy
Yet song of pain
Song of long nights
In the rain
Song of battles
Song of strife
Song of death
But also life
I'll sing untill
I have no breath
And then I'll sing
My song in death
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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I Am ... I Said
Written by: neil diamond
Song sung blue
Everybody knows one
Song sung blue
Every garden grows one
Me and you are subject to the blues now and then
But when you take the blues and make a song
You sing them out again
Sing them out again
Song sung blue
Weeping like a willow
Song sung blue
Sleeping on my pillow
Funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice
And before you know it, start to feeling good
You simply got no choice
Song sung blue
Everybody knows one
Song sung blue
Every garden grows one
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Sung Blue
Written by: neil diamond
Song sung blue
Everybody knows one
Song sung blue
Every garden grows one
Me and you are subject to the blues now and then
But when you take the blues and make a song
You sing them out again
Sing them out again
Song sung blue
Weeping like a willow
Song sung blue
Sleeping on my pillow
Funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice
And before you know it, start to feeling good
You simply got no choice
Song sung blue
Everybody knows one
Song sung blue
Every garden grows one
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Peace Autumn
THANK God for rest, where none molest,
And none can make afraid;
For Peace that sits as Plenty's guest
Beneath the homestead shade!
Bring pike and gun, the sword's red scourge,
The negro's broken chains,
And beat them at the blacksmith's forge
To ploughshares for our plains.
Alike henceforth our hills of snow,
And vales where cotton flowers;
All streams that flow, all winds that blow,
Are Freedom's motive-powers.
Henceforth to Labor's chivalry
Be knightly honors paid;
For nobler than the sword's shall be
The sickle's accolade.
Build up an altar to the Lord,
O grateful hearts of ours!
And shape it of the greenest sward
That ever drank the showers.
Lay all the bloom of gardens there,
And there the orchard fruits;
Bring golden grain from sun and air,
From earth her goodly roots.
There let our banners droop and flow,
The stars uprise and fall;
Our roll of martyrs, sad and slow,
Let sighing breezes call.
Their names let hands of horn and tan
And rough-shod feet applaud,
Who died to make the slave a man,
And link with toil reward.
There let the common heart keep time
To such an anthem sung
As never swelled on poet's rhyme,
Or thrilled on singer's tongue.
Song of our burden and relief,
Of peace and long annoy;
The passion of our mighty grief
And our exceeding joy!
A song of praise to Him who filled
The harvests sown in years,
And gave each field a double yield
To feed our battle-years!
A song of faith that trusts the end
To match the good begun,
Nor doubts the power of Love to blend
The hearts of men as one!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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It's Just A Song (Lyric) :
You hear the sound of the song.
It's coming on real strong.
It gives you a sense of strength.
it filters through the air.
It lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It takes you out in space.
Closer to second base.
It follows through so cool.
The smoothest thing for you.
A sound that sounds so clear.
A sound you'll want to hear.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It sends you through the air.
A sound that makes you high.
It makes you feel so good.
A sound that always should.
Just lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song..
Song-Lyric-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
See>>www.edwardspoetry.com
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Sickle
SICKLE
Love moon and its nature,
Don`t make it a sickle,
Don`t divide moon between Hindu and Mohanden or Christian,
Don`t shed blood in the universe,
Moon is moon,
Man is man,
Don`t divide and try to cut it,
With a sickle
poem by Dr. Ram Sharma
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Till The Last Song Is Sung
TILL THE LAST SONG IS SUNG
You’re welcome to stay
Please don’t go away
We’re open till
The last song is sung
There’s dancing on the floor
We won’t close the door
You can leave tips at the bar
The walk isn’t far
After the last song
Is sung
We’re just up the street
A place where you can plant your feet
Where the drinks are so good
You can’t remember where you stood
You can leave if you like
Be careful on the pike
Remember you came here for fun
Till the last song is sung
4/20/08
poem by Paul Klobusicky
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No One Heard
A song was sung that no one heard.
The song was sung all through the town.
It played for days - from dust until dawn.
It greeted on the morning and midnight yawn.
A song was sung that no one heard.
The melody was sweet and words were strong.
The instruments were the piano and the gong.
No one heard, no they did not,
For to hear, you needed the purest heart.
The song was played in the land on man;
A song was sung that no one heard.
Copyright © 2010 Leslie Alexis
poem by Leslie Alexis
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The little song and dance number at the end - that's me, my voice, howling out. It was a new experience for me. I've never sung before and I've certainly never sung on screen. I think I sung on stage when I was 13 and for some reason nobody's asked me to try it again since.
quote by Hugh Dancy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song Song Blue
Song sung blue
Everybody knows one
Song sung blue
Every garden grows one
Me and you are subject to the blues now and then
But when you take the blues and make a song
You sing them out again
Sing them out again
Song sung blue
Weeping like a willow
Song sung blue
Sleeping on my pillow
Funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice
And before you know, start to feeling good
You simply got no choice
[break]
Me and you are subject to the blues now and then
But when you take the blues and make a song
You sing them out again
Song sung blue
Everybody knows one
Song sung blue
Every garden grows one
Funny thing, but you can sing it with a cry in your voice
And before you know, start to feeling good
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song For All
A dream lets out a clarion call
For a song for all - you and me.
A song for all is sometimes not to be sung.
It needs no singer nor any music.
A song for all needs no listener either.
It`s often heard from within.
A song for all is often silent
As no torrents thereof transmounts the minds.
A song for all sometimes cristalises into a mute babe.
Then it cries for our care later.
A silent wave of a song not sung
Craves for an entry into our spirit stubborn.
The notes firm for a life time
Make the song unsung a nightingale sweetly dumb.
Your breath substantiates a life`s tale.
If I miss to feel it, I miss to hear a song.
Dear mortal enlightened, have a mind
To breathe your song into my indifferences.
A song sung for ourselves for once
Will make the cuckoo nostalgic ever,
And she will come to our dwelling places
To absorb the new notes unlearnt earlier.
A song for all may be a dream,
But its mute riches have no reverses.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Hooded Man With the Sickle
The hooded man with the sickle
He comes without invitation
He drops in on all kinds of people
And takes them with no hesitation.
The hooded man with the sickle
He might dropp by your place tonight
He may meet you on the road you take
And today, He may snuff out your light.
Live your life like there's no end-
Be ruthless and nasty with your ways,
But when you meet him around the bend
From the hooded man you can't run away.
We all will meet him, no matter what-
Poor, rich, famous or otherwise,
When he swings that sickle, you know that
You breathe your last and close your eyes.
........................ ..........................
'There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven...a time to be born, and a time to die...'
Ecclesiastes 3: 1
July 14,2009
Cabantuan City
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Steel Meets Steel
Back in 1095, when the call to arms came
We had the red cross sown on
Sent to save the holy land and crush the infidels
With strength from above
Steel meets steel
On towards victory we march, the guiding star
Lead us to the battle field
There, the heathens were subdued, and in the end
We forced them all to yield or die
Steel meets steel
In july in 99, the holy city was stormed and won
Jerusalem was freed, we thanked the lord for our glory
We, the templars, have survived by honor and pride
And the blessing of the sword
The quest of the war, forever sung
To the sound of steel meets steel
Steel meets steel
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Were the World Writ to a Song
Were the world writ to a song
Of what men and maidens would we sing
What legendary endeavours would we praise
The tales and tributes of days now past
What chords would they strike in the night
Ah the song and melody of the earth
Gentle stranger of the spirited mind
That which we have seen and that we know
Is not all of the truth but more besides
And life is there for the living
However the hardships come to weigh
No still the song is sung evermore
Still the world turns while night greets day
Men and maidens go about their business
Beginning and ending stories to be sung
Were the world writ to a song
How would we all be played out
And what verse would we leave in memory
But the song to our lives is our story
Were the world writ to a song
How would I be sung
poem by Matthew Holloway
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And Thus In Nineveh
Aye! I am a poet and upon my tomb
Shall maidens scatter rose leaves
And men myrtles, ere the night
Slays day with her dark sword.
'Lo ! this thing is not mine
Nor thine to hinder,
For the custom is full old,
And here in Nineveh have I beheld
Many a singer pass and take his place
In those dim halls where no man troubleth
His sleep or song.
And many a one hath sung his songs
More craftily, more subtle-souled than I;
And many a one now doth surpass
My wave-worn beauty with his wind of flowers,
Yet am I poet, and upon my tomb
Shall all men scatter rose leaves
Ere the night slay light
With her blue sword.
‘It is not, Raana, that my song rings highest
Or more sweet in tone than any, but that I
Am here a Poet, that doth drink of life
As lesser men drink wine.’
poem by Ezra Pound
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I decline to discuss, under compulsion, where I have sung, and who has sung my songs, and who else has sung with me, and the people I have known.
quote by Pete Seeger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Death-Day Of Korner
A song for the death-day of the brave
A song of pride!
The youth went down to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride.
He went, with his noble heart unworn,
And pure, and high;
An eagle stooping from clouds of morn,
Only to die!
He went with the lyre, whose lofty tone
Beneath his hand
Had thrill'd to the name of his God alone,
And his Father-land.
And with all his glorious feelings yet
In their first glow,
Like a southern stream that no frost hath met
To chain its flow.
A song for the death-day of the brave
A song of pride!
For him that went to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride.
He hath left a voice in his trumpet-lays
To turn the flight,
And a guiding spirit for after days,
Like a watch-fire's light.
And a grief in his father's soul to rest,
Midst all high thought;
And a memory unto his mother's breast,
With healing fraught.
And a name and fame above the blight
Of earthly breath,
Beautiful beautiful and bright,
In life and death!
A song for the death-day of the brave
A song of pride!
For him that went to a hero's grave,
With the sword, his bride!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The City Sings the Song of Death
The City sings the song of Death
Death that roams in the streets
Fearless and merciless, its hands smeared with blood
Its clothes drenched, its desire insatiable
It yearns for more bodies, for more and more
And yet more
The City sings the song of Death
A song whose tragic pitch would scare of birds
Were they to listen to its harrowing cadence
A song that makes babies cry and disturbs the old
A song that is sung by every one who lives in the city of Death
In fear, in pain, in terror
For Death itself has come to life
For Death itself, unchained and unchecked, roams around freely
Who shall now question Death?
The City sings the song of Death
My City sings the song of Death
I too sing the song of Death
And so do the millions that live with me
In the City of Death
poem by Abdul Samad
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He Entered Into Battle With A Blunt Edged Sword
He entered into battle with a blunt edged sword,
But he did not know quite why.
His sword selection was done without motive,
To battle and kill his fellow man.
So subconsciously he picked out this sword.
This sword not of this world, not out to cut to bleed.
But this innocent man didn't wish to realize,
What prize he would pay.
In midst of this battle, recieving the swiftest,
Blows from his enemy,
This soldier just kept getting hurt.
Five, six and seven more blows made him hit back,
This soldier proudly used his blunt sword,
Till his nemesis bearing a razor sharp one,
Came along and challenged the already fallen one,
Who gave a swift plunge into his enemy's heart.
But the enemy did not stagger or fall.
Neither did the soldier with the blunt sword.
This soldier's enemy left the battleground,
When he saw that the one with the blunt sword,
Knew all along the possibility of his death.
Still he fought, so he himself could die,
Which the other soldier was saddened by that man's stance.
He told that man, 'if we all fought battles with a blunt
sword,
Then we would all truly win,
For the battleground would know no mortality.
He further told him, 'because of you, your side
Truly wins. But so does our.
We love you,
Blunt edged sword soldier man.'
poem by Vera Sidhwa
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