En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Golden--of the selkirks

A trail upwinds from Golden;
It leads to a land God only knows,
To the land of eternal frozen snows,
That trail unknown and olden.

And they tell a tale that is strange and wild--
Of a lovely and lonely mountain child
That went up the trail from Golden.

A child in the sweet of her womanhood,
Beautiful, tender, grave and good
As the saints in time long olden.

And the days count not, nor the weeks avail;
For the child that went up the mountain trail
Came never again to Golden.

And the watchers wept in the midnight gloom,
Where the canyons yawn and the Selkirks loom,
For the love that they knew of olden.

And April dawned, with its suns aflame,
And the eagles wheeled and the vultures came
And poised o'er the town of Golden.

God of the white eternal peaks,
Guard the dead while the vulture seeks!--
God of the days so olden.

For only God in His greatness knows
Where the mountain holly above her grows,
On the trail that leads from Golden.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lone Trail

Ye who know the Lone Trail fain would follow it,
Though it lead to glory or the darkness of the pit.
Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid your love good-by;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow till you die.

The trails of the world be countless, and most of the trails be tried;
You tread on the heels of the many, till you come where the ways divide;
And one lies safe in the sunlight, and the other is dreary and wan,
Yet you look aslant at the Lone Trail, and the Lone Trail lures you on.
And somehow you're sick of the highway, with its noise and its easy needs,
And you seek the risk of the by-way, and you reck not where it leads.
And sometimes it leads to the desert, and the togue swells out of the mouth,
And you stagger blind to the mirage, to die in the mocking drouth.
And sometimes it leads to the mountain, to the light of the lone camp-fire,
And you gnaw your belt in the anguish of hunger-goded desire.
And sometimes it leads to the Southland, to the swamp where the orchid glows,
And you rave to your grave with the fever, and they rob the corpse for its clothes.
And sometimes it leads to the Northland, and the scurvy softens your bones,
And your flesh dints in like putty, and you spit out your teeth like stones.
And sometimes it leads to a coral reef in the wash of a weedy sea,
And you sit and stare at the empty glare where the gulls wait greedily.
And sometimes it leads to an Arctic trail, and the snows where your torn feet freeze,
And you whittle away the useless clay, and crawl on your hands and knees.
Often it leads to the dead-pit; always it leads to pain;
By the bones of your brothers ye know it, but oh, to follow you're fain.
By your bones they will follow behind you, till the ways of the world are made plain.

Bid good-by to sweetheart, bid good-by to friend;
The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail follow to the end.
Tarry not, and fear not, chosen of the true;
Lover of the Lone Trail, the Lone Trail waits for you.

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The trail to lillooet

Sob of fall, and song of forest, come you here on haunting quest,
Calling through the seas and silence, from God's country of the west.
Where the mountain pass is narrow, and the torrent white and strong,
Down its rocky-throated canyon, sings its golden-throated song.

You are singing there together through the God-begotten nights,
And the leaning stars are listening above the distant heights
That lift like points of opal in the crescent coronet
About whose golden setting sweeps the trail to Lillooet.

Trail that winds and trail that wanders, like a cobweb hanging high,
Just a hazy thread outlining mid-way of the stream and sky,
Where the Fraser River canyon yawns its pathway to the sea,
But half the world has shouldered up between its song and me.

Here, the placid English August, and the sea-encircled miles,
There--God's copper-coloured sunshine beating through the lonely aisles
Where the waterfalls and forest voice for ever their duet,
And call across the canyon on the trail to Lillooet.

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Man With The Golden Gun

The man
With the golden gun
Is waiting
Somewhere
Out there
For you
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
Demand
For the golden gun
It's high priced
Precise
And true
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket, Oh, oh
The man with the golden
Gun in his case, Oh, oh
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
You better believe
He'll be looking for you
He-e-e-e-e-e's, The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in his case
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
But you'll never see him
He'll be looking for you
You better believe
He'll be looking for yo-ou
He-e-e-e-e-e's, The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in his case
The man with the golden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the golden
Gun in your face
The man with the go-o-olden
Gun in his pocket
The man with the go-o-lden
Gun in his case
The man who gave you the golden gun

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Country Roads ~ White Horse Road

By White Horse Tavern, White Horse Road
In olden days wound down;
And many a waggon bore its load
And many a bullock felt the goad
From town to country town.
Thro' Ringwood on, by hill and vale,
Their patient way they went.
Until they came to Lilydale,
The olden town of Lilydale.
And teamsters paused at Lilydale,
A place of calm content.

But days of bitumen and tar
Have changed the ancient mode;
And now the speeding motor car,
Where traffic-cops and bowsers are,
Go down the White Horse Road,
Upon a smooth, broad way they sail,
Till, sudden, up and down,
The bumps begin at Lilydale,
The rocky road to Lilydale,
The holey road to Lilydale,
A very peaceful town.

Beyond the town, the bumps are past,
And vexed springs settle down;
But many an angry look is cast
And many a curse speeds backwards fast
Toward that backward town.
On to the foothills leads the trail
By smooth and pleasant ways,
But, oh, that stretch thro' Lilydale!
The sleepy town of Lilydale,
Where folk still think, in Lilydale,
In terms of bullock drays.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Durango Mountain Caballero

This song was first released on the rocky mountain holiday album. it is the only album it has been released on.
You know I love the trail Im on
And the friends who ride with me
The country that were passing through
Is a paradise to see
A haven for my spirit
The homeland of my dreams
My heart flies through the wilderness
And on an eagles wings
And oh I love the waterfall
And the way the river sings
From snowcapped peaks both proud and tall
Through forests deep and green
The highway of the mountains
The lifeblood of the land
I can hear my mother speak to me
And hold my fathers hand
Durango mountain caballero
Take me for a ride
On the backbone of this mighty land
The continental divide
To the place where earth and heaven meet
The mountains and the sky
In the heart of colorado
Rocky mountain high
And oh I love the campfire
And the circle that Im in
The stories and the laughter
They should never ever end
Forever in my memory
Forever in my song
On a san juan mountain trail ride
Ill carry you along
Words and music by john denver

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On holiday

On holiday we went to
Blyde river canyon
with our own white Hillman Vogue
accompanied by a yellow minivan
full of school children.

First we stopped at God’s window
and on that clear day
I could see from where
the name came.

We were like Moses
seeing the Promised Land
and could see the sea
in far off Mozambique
and the land
all the way to there
and what a great view it was.

We hiked a trail
that went along picturesque high cliffs
carrying backpacks
with sleeping bags
and below a river glittered
with fresh cold water
where we frolicked to cool down.

Somewhere high in the mountain
we lost the trail
and hiked on another new one
and took a much longer route.

There were potholes
washed out by the water
and we followed the river
till a camping site
where it met another
and it was by far
one of the best holidays
I had as a child.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Old Town Types No.1 - The Old Town

Fierce on the wheat-sown Mallee plain
The ruthless summer suns burned down,
And dust-storms, heralding the rain,
Swept thro' the street and on again
While tradesfolk cursed in the old white town.
Of sand and line-stone stoutly built,
She'd lived to prosper and to wilt,
Because, as all wiseacres knew,
'They went and brought the railway thro'.'

Deep-voiced, bewhiskered townsfolk these,
Remnant of pioneering days,
Full of high tales and memories
Of wild, rough work and wilder sprees,
When coach and teamster went their ways;
When men pushed out to newer land
And cash came easy to the hand
And went: The golden days men knew
'Before that put that railway thro'.'

Yet even in those days of stress -
Or seeming stress - the old town knew
Nothing of wnat or wretchedness;
For wealth was there and work to bless
All men who sought them work to do.
To me, a child in those far years,
Now as a time-dimmed dream appears
The olden life that once I knew
After the railway wandered thro'.

Like myths in some long-fabled tale -
Figures and scenes to conjure with
They seem. Yet 'spite the deepening veil,
Their memories grow never stales;
Big George, the lumper; Toll, the smith;
Long John, the snob - long have they slept
While suns burned down and dustorm swept
Across the Mallee plains they knew
Before men brought the railway thro'.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Wildy Ones

The sheep are in the silver wood,
The cows are in the broom;
The goats are in the wild mountain
And won't be home by noon.

My mother sang that olden tune
Most every night,
And to her newest she would croon
By candle light;
While cuddling in the velvet gloom
I'd dream of cows
That sought each dawn 'mid golden broom
To gently browse.

Or I would glimpse the silver wood,
The birchen glade,
Where pearly sheep in quiet mood
Cropped unafraid;
But how I loved in lapsing drowse
The mountain wild!
The goats were more than sheep and cows
To one wee child.

For cows and sheep are shelter-wise,
And love the lea;
While goats have starlight in their eyes,
In cragland free . . .
And now on edge of endless sleep
Wryly I note
How less I'm kin to kine and sheep
Than rebel goat!

poem by Robert William Service
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Trail Of Tears

This song was first released on the dreamland express album. it is the only album it has been released on.
No more beautiful moons may we spend on our land
In the north, the scarlet council talks of war
And the long knives have massacred the tribe and burned corn
Were not welcome in our homeland anymore
No more songs of the hunters on the baffalo plain
No more smoke from sacred fires touch these hills
And the numbers of the people grow fewer every mile
And our children will not leave the great spirits ways
There will be a trail of tears
There will be a trail of pain
And jackson will have the mississippi and the twenty dollar bill
But for us the trail is all that will remain
On the streets of rapid city
On the road to wounded knee
There is whiskey for forgetting everything
But the old ones say there may be time learning from each other
The way that it had once been meant to be
There is still a trail of tears
There is still a trail of pain
And jackson has got the mississippi and the twenty dollar bill
But for us the trail of tears remains
And jackson has got the mississippi and the twenty dollar bill
But how long will the trail of tears remain
Words and music by randy handley

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Have yourself a merry little christmas,
Let your heart be light.
Next year all our troubles will be out of sight.
Have yourself a merry little christmas,
Make the yuletide gay.
Next year all our troubles will be miles away.
Once again as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who were dear to us,
Will be near to us once more.
Someday soon we all will be together,
If the fates allow.
Until then, well have to muddle through somehow.
So have yourself a merry little christmas now.
Once again as in olden days,
Happy golden days of yore.
Faithful friends who were dear to us,
Will be near to us once more.
Someday soon we all will be together,
If the fates allow.
Until then, well have to muddle through somehow.
So have yourself a merry little christmas now.

song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll miss you

I’ll miss you, when you have gone missing
From my heart, and I hear only the hissing sigh,
Leaping gently out of the air with mourning,
And lament from the void inside of me.

I’ll let memories assail and climb,
Taking promises drawn on the trail of love,
In time, winding further down into my mind,
All the dreams cost sorrows to grieve.

And when you’re gone let time play for us,
In shinning sleep the songs we love to sing,
In our golden days, we embrace the trail with bliss,
And every tender kiss was as green.

As the grass upon which we turn and lay,
And hay became a blanket upon the ground,
I’ll miss you every night, and every daunting day,
Even in dreams which make no sound.

Going high around the sun and under the stars,
I see the birth of a shinning new place,
Where we will be inseparable from our dreams,
And tears following you out will no longer be trace.

poem by Gerry Legister
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The passage wayto happiness

The passage way to happiness,
Isn't the trail to follow,
It doesn't take you anywhere,
But leads you to sorrow.

Theres no trail of happiness,
Only the people that surrounds you,
The only people that will make you smile,
Are the people you know and follow.

The passage way to happiness,
Isn't something to look for,
Something like that doesn't seem so real,
But only in the shows we love to watch.

Don't blieve in what people tell you,
That theres a trail that leads you to happiness,
They just wanna see you smile....

The passage way to happiness,
In nothing near reality,
But the people around you say its true,
And they say its somewhere around the world.

Dont go around this world,
Just to find that lonely trail of happiness,
Cause you will never find it,
I dont mean to mean so mean,
BUt I'm just tell you the truth,
But theres no way to find a trail of happiness,
If its not even true.

The passage way to happiness,
Is only in your imagination,
You think its so real,
Just beacause people say its true.

Who would you truly believe,
Yourself or the people that surrounds you,
When it comes to that,
I would rely on myself,
Not on the company of others.

The passage way to happiness,
Is a figment of my imagination,
But the reality of my friends are real,
Since they make me laugh and smile,
When they see me sad.

My peers really know me,
Since they are always so concerned,
When I'm feeling down,
They have a way to make me smile,
Thats my passage way of happiness,
But theres no trail for me to follow.

poem by Gothic Fairy Princess
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The Heart Of The Sourdough

There where the mighty mountains bare their fangs unto the moon,
There where the sullen sun-dogs glare in the snow-bright, bitter noon,
And the glacier-glutted streams sweep down at the clarion call of June.

There where the livid tundras keep their tryst with the tranquil snows;
There where the silences are spawned, and the light of hell-fire flows
Into the bowl of the midnight sky, violet, amber and rose.

There where the rapids churn and roar, and the ice-floes bellowing run;
Where the tortured, twisted rivers of blood rush to the setting sun --
I've packed my kit and I'm going, boys, ere another day is done.

* * * * *

I knew it would call, or soon or late, as it calls the whirring wings;
It's the olden lure, it's the golden lure, it's the lure of the timeless things,
And to-night, oh, God of the trails untrod, how it whines in my heart-strings!

I'm sick to death of your well-groomed gods, your make believe and your show;
I long for a whiff of bacon and beans, a snug shakedown in the snow;
A trail to break, and a life at stake, and another bout with the foe.

With the raw-ribbed Wild that abhors all life, the Wild that would crush and rend,
I have clinched and closed with the naked North, I have learned to defy and defend;
Shoulder to shoulder we have fought it out -- yet the Wild must win in the end.

I have flouted the Wild. I have followed its lure, fearless, familiar, alone;
By all that the battle means and makes I claim that land for mine own;
Yet the Wild must win, and a day will come when I shall be overthrown.

Then when as wolf-dogs fight we've fought, the lean wolf-land and I;
Fought and bled till the snows are red under the reeling sky;
Even as lean wolf-dog goes down will I go down and die.

poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tracking Down A Runaway

Call out the dogs and the National Guard.
My baby got away and I'm taking it hard.
I slipped the border and I jumped the train,
I'll do anything to get her back again.
Tracking down a runaway, down a runaway,
Down a runaway, I'm following the trail of broken hearts.
Who's that sneaking like an alley cat,
I've got the jump on you baby, can't do me like that,
I'm a love hound honey and I've got your scent,
I'm a wild crazy dog and I'm hell bent.
Tracking down a runaway, down a runaway,
Down a runaway, I'm following the trail of broken hearts.
No where to run, yeah, nowhere to hide,
No where to run, nowhere to hide, to hide, yeah, hey.
Well the midnight stars in the midnight sky,
They look down on me and they wonder why,
She may get far but she won't get away, huh,
I'm gonna run her to the ground every night and day.
Tracking down a runaway, tracking down a runaway,
Down a runaway, I'm following the trail of broken hearts.
Tracking down a runaway, down a runaway, yeah,
Down a runaway, yeah, yeah, down a runaway.
Look out baby, groove baby.
I see you baby, you won't get far, I got you on my mind,
I'm on your trail baby and love on my mind.
I'm tracking down a runaway, tracking down a runaway,
Down a runaway, following the trail of broken hearts.

song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horses and Men in Rain

Let us sit by a hissing steam radiator a winter's day, gray wind pattering frozen raindrops on the window,
And let us talk about milk wagon drivers and grocery delivery boys.

Let us keep our feet in wool slippers and mix hot punches--and talk about mail carriers and
messenger boys slipping along the icy sidewalks.
Let us write of olden, golden days and hunters of the
Holy Grail and men called "knights" riding horses in the rain, in the cold frozen rain for ladies they loved.

A roustabout hunched on a coal wagon goes by, icicles drip on his hat rim, sheets of ice wrapping
the hunks of coal, the caravanserai a gray blur in slant of rain.
Let us nudge the steam radiator with our wool slippers and write poems of Launcelot, the hero, and
Roland, the hero, and all the olden golden men who rode horses in the rain.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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Lay It Away

We will lay our summer away, my friend,
So tenderly lay it away.
It was bright and sweet to the very end,
Like one long, golden day.
Nothing sweeter could come to me,
Nothing sweeter to you.
We will lay it away, and let it be,
Hid from the whole world’s view.

We will lay it away like a dear, dead thing –
Dead, yet for ever fair;
And the fresh green robes of a deathless spring,
Though dead, it shall alaways wear.
We will not hide it in grave or tomb,
But lay it away to sleep,
Guarded by beauty, and light, and bloom,
Wrapped in a slumber deep.

We were willing to let the summer go –
Willing to go our own ways;
But never on earth again I know
Will either find such days.
You are my friend, and it may seem strange,
But I would not see you again;
I would think of you, though all things change,
Just as I knew you then.

If we should go back to the olden place,
And the summer time went too,
It would be like looking a ghost in the face,
So much would be changed and new.
We cannot live it over again,
Not even a single day;
And as something sweet, and free from pain,
We had better let it away.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Make the Yuletide gay
From now on, our troubles will be miles away
Here were are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Through the years we all will be together
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.
Here were are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Through the years we all will be together
If the Fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

(ralph & hugh)
Have yourself a merry little christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on our troubles will be out of sight
Have yourself a merry little christmas
Make the yuletide gay
From now on your troubles will be miles away
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little christmas now
Here we are as in olden days
Happy golden days of yore
Faithful friends who are dear to us
Gather near to us once more
Through the years we all will be together
If the fates allow
Hang a shining star upon the highest bough
And have yourself a merry little christmas now

song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Granfather

My gran father

Is...

My father...

yes...

My lovingely father...

My gran father loves for me...

At over of my father...

I am also love

My gran father a lot....

My gran father telling

Stores at my child age...

It is very happyfull...

Today my gran father

Is passaway...

I did not woory

I did not cry...

But...

Heart only think

My gran father

Golden days...

Theay all are

Olden days...

Did not come

My life that days....

My gran father also...!

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The Old Scotish Cavalier

I.

Come listen to another song,
Should make your heart beat high,
Bring crimson to your forehead,
And the lustre to your eye;-
It is a song of olden time,
Of days long since gone by,
And of a Baron stout and bold
As e'er wore sword on thigh!
Like a brave old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!

II.

He kept his castle in the north,
Hard by the thundering Spey;
And a thousand vassals dwelt around
All of his kindred they.
And not a man of all that clan
Had ever ceased to pray
For the Royal race they loved so well,
Though exiled far away
From the steadfast Scottish cavaliers,
All of the olden time!

III.

His father drew the righteous sword
For Scotland and her claims,
Among the loyal gentlemen
And chiefs of ancient names
Who swore to fight or fall beneath
The standard of King James,
And died at Killiecrankie pass
With the glory of the Graemes;
Like a true old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!

IV.

He never owned the foreign rule,
No master he obeyed,
But kept his clan in peace at home,
From foray and from raid;
And when they asked him for his oath,
He touched his glittering blade,
And pointed to his bonnet blue,
That bore the white cockade:
Like a leal old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!

V.

At length the news ran through the land-
THE PRINCE had come again!
That night the fiery cross was sped
O'er mountain and through glen;
And our old Baron rose in might,
Like a lion from his den,
And rode away across the hills
To Charlie and his men,
With the valiant Scottish cavaliers,
All of the olden time!

VI.

He was the first that bent the knee
When the STANDARD waved abroad,
He was the first that charged the foe
On Preston's bloody sod;
And ever, in the van of fight,
The foremost still he trod,
Until, on bleak Culloden's heath,
He gave his soul to God,
Like a good old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!

VII.

Oh! never shall we know again
A heart so stout and true-
The olden times have passed away,
And weary are the new:
The fair White Rose has faded
From the garden where it grew,
And no fond tears save those of heaven
The glorious bed bedew
Of the last old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!

poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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