En.Citatepedia^®.ro

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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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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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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The Long Trail

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand grey to the sun,
Singing: "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the dover,
"And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long? how long?
Pull out on the trail again!
Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new!

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun
Or South to the blind Hom's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate --
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

The days are sick and cold, and the skies are grey and old
And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
Of a black Bilbao tramp,
With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
And a drunken Dago crew,
And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail
From Cadiz south on the Long Trail-the trail that is always new.

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the sweetest way to me is a ship's upon the sea
In the heel of the North-East Trade.
Can you hear the crash on her brows, dear lass.
And the drum of the racing screw,
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new?

See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
And the sirens hoot their dread,
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless, viewless deep
To the sob of the questing lead!
It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
With the Grinfleet Sands in view,
Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors
Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
Her plates are flaked by the sun, dear lass
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
And the Southern Cross rides high!
Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
That blaze in the velvet blue.
They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
They're God's own guides on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start
We're steaming all too slow,
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
You have heard the call of the off-shore wind
And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song-how long? how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
And The Deuce knows we may do
But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're down, hull-down, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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L'envoi

There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- "Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
And your English summer's done."
You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,
And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,
We've seen the seasons through,
And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,
Or South to the blind Horn's hate;
Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,
Or West to the Golden Gate;
Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,
And the wildest tales are true,
And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

The days are sick and cold, and the skies are gray and old,
And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;
And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll
Of a black Bilbao tramp;
With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,
And a drunken Dago crew,
And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail
From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,
Or the way of a man with a maid;
But the fairest way to me is a ship's upon the sea
In the heel of the North-East Trade.
Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,
And the drum of the racing screw,
As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new?

See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,
And the fenders grind and heave,
And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,
And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;
It's "Gang-plank up and in," dear lass,
It's "Hawsers warp her through!"
And it's "All clear aft" on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,
And the sirens hoot their dread!
When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless deep
To the sob of the questing lead!
It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,
With the Gunfleet Sands in view,
Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail,
our own trail, the out trail,
And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new.

O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light
That holds the hot sky tame,
And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors
Where the scared whale flukes in flame!
Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,
And her ropes are taut with the dew,
For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,
And the shouting seas drive by,
And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,
And the Southern Cross rides high!
Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,
That blaze in the velvet blue.
They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
They're God's own guides on the Long Trail --
the trail that is always new.

Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start --
We're steaming all-too slow,
And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle
Where the trumpet-orchids blow!
You have heard the call of the off-shore wind,
And the voice of the deep-sea rain;
You have heard the song -- how long! how long?
Pull out on the trail again!

The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,
And The Deuce knows what we may do --
But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,
We're down, hull down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Light Between the Trees

Long, long, long the trail
Through the brooding forest-gloom,
Down the shadowy, lonely vale
Into silence, like a room
Where the light of life has fled,
And the jealous curtains close
Round the passionless repose
Of the silent dead.

Plod, plod, plod away,
Step by step in mouldering moss;
Thick branches bar the day
Over languid streams that cross
Softly, slowly, with a sound
In their aimless creeping
Like a smothered weeping,
Through the enchanted ground.

"Yield, yield, yield thy quest,"
Whispers through the woodland deep;
"Come to me and be at rest;
"I am slumber, I am sleep."
Then the weary feet would fail,
But the never-daunted will
Urges "Forward, forward still!
"Press along the trail!"

Breast, breast, breast the slope!
See, the path is growing steep.
Hark! a little song of hope
When the stream begins to leap.
Though the forest, far and wide,
Still shuts out the bending blue,
We shall finally win through,
Cross the long divide.

On, on, onward tramp!
Will the journey never end?
Over yonder lies the camp;
Welcome waits us there, my friend.
Can we reach it ere the night?
Upward, upward, never fear!
Look, the summit must be near;
See the line of light!

Red, red, red the shine
Of the splendour in the west,
Glowing through the ranks of pine,
Clear along the mountain-crest!
Long, long, long the trail
Out of sorrow's lonely vale;
But at last the traveller sees
Light between the trees!

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Walk on a rainbow trail; walk on a trail of song, and all about you will be beauty. There is a way out of every dark mist, over a rainbow trail.

quote by Robert Motherwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Trail

The trail in the Winter is lonely
The loneliest place I know
But the trail is the place that I go to
When my troubles I can't let go
The howl of the wind keeps me company
And it's stiff cold slap on my face
Awakens me to the moment
A moment that is filled with God's grace
I remember the sweet smell of Summer
The colors still fresh on my brain
But the odors and colors of Summer
Are replaced by the dampness and rain
Yet the pull of the trail is a strong one
And nothing could keep me away
Not ten pots of gold and a promise
That it all could be mine someday
'Cause the trail is my church and my temple
And no greater peace can be found
Than the peace and the glory around me
That in the forest abounds

Written by Sara Fielder © 1997

poem by Sara Fielder
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Song Of Wyoming

This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the windsong album, and has also been released on the country classics and the country roads collection albums.
Well, Im weary and tired, Ive done my days ridin
Nighttime is rollin my way
The skys all on fire and the lights slowly fading
Peaceful and still ends the day
Out on the trail night birds are callin
Singin their wild melody
Down in the canyon cottonwood whispers
A song of wyoming for me
Well, Ive wandered around the town and the city
Tried to figure the how and the why
Well, Ive stopped all my schemin
Im just driftin and dreamin
Watching the river roll by
Here comes that big ole prairie moon risin
Shinin down bright as can be
Up on the hill theres a coyote singin
A song of wyoming for me
Now its whiskey and tobacco and bitter black coffee
A lonesome old dogie am i
But wakin up on the range
Lord I feel like an angel
Free like I almost could fly
Drift like a cloud out over the badlands
Sing like a bird in the tree
The wind in the sage sounds like heaven singin
A song of wyoming for me
A song of wyoming for me
Words and music by kent lewis

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dream Fulfilled (My First Trail Ride)

Upon the saddle I am mounted
My foot in the stirrup is set
Precious time is happily counted
a kinder horse have I never met
Upon the rocky trail I ride
I enjoy fresh air and tree-given shade
Within this horse my trust I confide
and I new friend I have surely made
Though the hills are steep and the trail is rough
This horse has been well-trained
Through the rugged trail, he proves hardy and tough
He knows the way and needs not to be reined
I hear the water of a running creek
I spot a lone deer in the distance
At the sight of this animal, I am unable to speak
While upon a horse she ignores my existence
Closer to nature I start to feel
Trees on either side I can see
Almost like a dream, yet so real
There has never been a happier me
But the trail has ended, I start to cry
I will have a horse of my own! ...But when?
For now, I depart and heave a big sigh
And look forward to the rocky trail again

poem by Glaedr the poet
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The ballad of yaada (a legend of the pacific coast)

There are fires on Lulu Island, and the sky is opalescent
With the pearl and purple tinting from the smouldering of peat.
And the Dream Hills lift their summits in a sweeping, hazy crescent,
With the Capilano canyon at their feet.

There are fires on Lulu Island, and the smoke, uplifting, lingers
In a faded scarf of fragrance as it creeps across the day,
And the Inlet and the Narrows blur beneath its silent fingers,
And the canyon is enfolded in its grey.

But the sun its face is veiling like a cloistered nun at vespers;
As towards the alter candles of the night a censer swings,
And the echo of tradition wakes from slumbering and whispers,
Where the Capilano river sobs and sings.

It was Yaada, lovely Yaada, who first taught the stream its sighing,
For 'twas silent till her coming, and 'twas voiceless as the shore;
But throughout the great forever it will sing the song undying
That the lips of lovers sing for evermore.

He was chief of all the Squamish, and he ruled the coastal waters--
And he warred upon her people in the distant Charlotte Isles;
She, a winsome basket weaver, daintiest of Haida daughters,
Made him captive to her singing and her smiles.

Till his hands forgot to havoc and his weapons lost their lusting,
Till his stormy eyes allured her from the land of Totem Poles,
Till she followed where he called her, followed with a woman's trusting,
To the canyon where the Capilano rolls.

And the women of the Haidas plied in vain their magic power,
Wailed for many moons her absence, wailed for many moons their prayer,

poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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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
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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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Back home to my girl

I saw the stars weep
in the desert tonight
and I heard the whipoorwill call
all alone in the world
heading west on the trail
how I wish the stars tears
would put paid to my fears
and mend my poor heart
that's been broken apart
and take me back home
to my girl

The ghosts of the winds howl
make sand fountains dance
and swirl with the brushwood
as the moon pays a glance
the shadows leap round
to the wolfs mournful sound
how I wish the winds song
would help me roll along
to lift up my spirit
and take me on with it
returning back home
to my girl.

poem by Charles M. Moore
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Vapor Trails

Stratospheric traces of our transitroy flight
trails of condensation held
in narrow bands of white
the sin is turning black
the world is turning grey
all the starts fade from the night
the oceans drain away
Horizon to horizon
memory written on the wind
fading away, like an hourglass, grain by grain
swept away like voices in a hurrican
In a vapor trail
atmospheric phases make the transitory last
vaporize the momories that freeze the fading past
silence all the songbirds
stilled by the killing frost
forest burn to ashes
everything is lost
washed away like foortprints in the rain
In a vapor trail

song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jagged Edges

Imagine, yourself-no, be there! -in a canyon,
Crisscrossed with sharp steel edges,
Rim to rim,
The Grand Canyon of canyons;
You're at the bottom-
There is no way out
Unslicing yourself.
That's the blues, not the greens,
(Like the colored wedges) ,
You feel wedged in every day
In the canyon of imperfection.

poem by Stan Petrovich
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Looking For Sugar!

following the trail of the ants,
past empty factory buildings.
past fields not planted.
past vacant store fronts.
past cars up on blocks,
and signs yelling 'for rent'...
following the trail of the ants,
looking for sugar!
following the trail of the sun,
from day unto night.
from family to forsaken.
from home to the road.
from god to the faces
that ring like haunted church bells,
following the trail of the sun...
looking for sugar!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Treading Dangerously

When we embarked on this path together
Skies at sunrise and sunset seemed deeper
While our glowing shadows cowered in their blaze
Wary like the spring that's only heard of the winter
I ask the spring -Does the winter ever creep in?
It answers; - I don't know.

Then I realize a daunting question like a mountain stood
On our path, to surmount it, I tried to bridge things my way
At times even with coldness, but I stood rebuffed
Cause you stood on top of the hill in pride, nonchalant
I ask the mountain -Will you stand in my path again?
It answers: - I don't know.

Then I bowed to your ways and prayed
the mountain would go away; it did
but at the back of my mind it did raise it's head
Always looming in the horizon
I ask the horizon-Is it still there?
It answers; - I don't know

Now I was lost in the song of spring & the mirth of the rains
The mountain had lost its edge, yet afraid it's talons could hurt
I hid my dreams in your palm, afraid of being robbed
This was neither the place nor the time to reveal them
You shut your palms tight and shut out all the light
I groped in the darkness with only the stars that whisper
Clueless in the wind shimmering illusions
I waited for you to come through the dark end
And when I reached out I held no hand
Did I err? - I ask the night
It answers- I don't know.

I wait now for you, to throw crumbs my way
Living no moment, but dragging from one to the next
My trail of crumbs has come to an end
Both lost in the trail we made
I ask the trail -Will we find our way back?
It answers: I don't know.

The night is engulfed in darkness and the wind
Is drunk, losing it's head it threatens for blood
This is not the time to rock the seas or tempt fate
The storm is on us, tread carefully
As we wander, you blinded by pride, I by faith
Show yourself or let the seas engulf us
I ask the seas -Did we have to go through this?
It answers -I don't know.

On the trail unable to take one step towards each other
Have we taken a thousand steps away from each other?
The mountain again stood mighty in our path
I ask the trail-will we cross over?
It answers-I don't know.

After a tedious toil, you return holding my dreams
And seat your frail self on the trail
And eagerly look at me,
Holding you by the hand leading you on,
I answer-'Come! Mountain or no mountain,
If you think I can- I can'

Seema.J
1st-April-2012

poem by Seema joglekar
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Crack Up A Track to Point a Nowhere

Oh this cool lonely road to nowhere
heave a trapping underneath my skin
it shooves no wrinkle upon rocky thorns
like bluish armament in subtle aims.

Oh this cool lonely trail to nowhere
brings up my feet in tracking still
my feet have anchored so much pain
in place of anger over the chain.

Oh this cool lonely path to nowhere
I see better than a sublime walk upon it
neither the hallowed ground can make a trail
to a lonely man like me walking in ambush keel.

poem by Gil Gregorio
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The Rattlesnake Trail

Got a hair shirt round my shoulder. got a cold stew in my spoon.
And Im falling on my head, lifting feet of lead ---
Now its got me baying at the moon.
Well, theres a race on for tomorrow. Im stretching out
For what might have been.
Going to come out from the night, got my second sight ---
Play rough --- you know what I mean.
Im going for the kill. Im going tooth and nail
Up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.
Got the law laid down to the left of me. got the real world to the right.
Heading up through the middle with my cat and my fiddle ---
Yeah, looking for a fight.
Going to ride hard in bandit country --- on the blind side of the bend.
Keep my nose to the wind while the rabbits skinned ---
Bed down at the journeys end. (be a rattlesnake.)
Im going for the kill. Im going tooth and nail
Up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.
The rattlesnake trail.
Im going on the rattlesnake trail.
Going to be with wolves in winter --- run in angry packs by day.
But when you give a dog a bone, he has to be alone ---
Growl, keep the other dogs away.
See that thin moon on the mountain. see that cold star in the sky.
Going to bring them down --- shake them to the ground ---
Put that apple in the pie. (be a rattlesnake.)
Im going for the kill. Im going tooth and nail
Up that dusty hill --- on the rattlesnake trail.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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