How Long?
How long, and yet how long,
Our leaders will we hail from over seas,
Master and kings from feudal monarchies,
And mock their ancient song
With echoes weak of foreign melodies?
That distant isle mist-wreathed,
Mantled in unimaginable green,
Too long hath been our mistress and our queen.
Our fathers have bequeathed
Too deep a love for her, our hearts within.
She made the whole world ring
With the brave exploits of her children strong,
And with the matchless music of her song.
Too late, too late we cling
To alien legends, and their strains prolong.
This fresh young world I see,
With heroes, cities, legends of her own;
With a new race of men, and overblown
By winds from sea to sea,
Decked with the majesty of every zone.
I see the glittering tops
Of snow-peaked mounts, the wid'ning vale's expanse,
Large prairies where free herds of horses prance,
Exhaustless wealth of crops,
In vast, magnificent extravagance.
These grand, exuberant plains,
These stately rivers, each with many a mouth,
The exquisite beauty of the soft-aired south,
The boundless seas of grains,
Luxuriant forests' lush and splendid growth.
The distant siren-song
Of the green island in the eastern sea,
Is not the lay for this new chivalry.
It is not free and strong
To chant on prairies 'neath this brilliant sky.
The echo faints and fails;
It suiteth not, upon this western plain,
Out voice or spirit; we should stir again
The wilderness, and make the vales
Resound unto a yet unheard-of strain.
poem by Emma Lazarus
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Related quotes
Melody
Melody
By: Adam M. Snow
O' Melody, names like the angel's song;
music swaying around thine love
but of thy love my days be long;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
I long to hear thy voice, thy angelic voice
soothes away my hearts desire.
But it be that of love's choice
echoing upon thy voice.
Can thee forever love a lonely man such as I,
or do thee live on knowing not that of love,
or do thee walk passed and curse myself to die?
This feeling, this love O' Melody I cannot deny.
Let me hear thy choir of thy song;
a voice so deep calming the soul.
Let thy voice and passion be strong;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
Sing; let thy voice be heard across the Earth.
Let it pierce thy shadows.
Let the world see a new found birth
and the wonders its worth.
O' Melody, a song I longed after
to cleanse my immortal soul,
to feel the joy and laughter
and be with you hereafter.
O' Melody, names like the angel's song;
music swaying around thine love
but of thy love my days be long;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
O' Melody, play thy music for I love thee.
Thy lyrics be true thy heart,
Thy song be thy key
to set all souls free.
Let me hear thy choir of thy song;
a voice so deep calming the soul.
Let thy voice and passion be strong;
O' my Melody, sang my song.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Rose
Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realm of the black rose
Play me the melodies i want to know
So i can teach my children, oh
Pray tell me the story of young c chulainn
How his eyes were dark his expression sullen
And how he'd fight and always won
And how they cried when he was fallen
Oh tell me the story of the queen of this land
And how her sons died at her own hand
And how fools obey commands
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
Where the mountains of mourne come down to the sea
Will she no come back to me
Will she no come back to me
Oh shenandoah i hear you calling
Far away you rolling river
Roll down the mountain side
On down on down go lassie go
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realms of the black rose
Play me the melodies so i might know
So i can tell my children, oh
My roisin dubh is my one and only true love
It was a joy that joyce brought to me
While william butler waits
And oscar, he's going wilde
Ah sure, brendan where have you behan?
Looking for a girl with green eyes
My dark rosaleen is my only colleen
That georgie knows best
But van is the man
Starvation once again
Drinking whiskey in the jar-o
Synge's playboy of the western world
As shaw, sean i was born and reared there
Where the mountains of mourne come down to the sea
Is such a long, long way from tipperary
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roisin Dubh (Black Rose) / A Rock Legend
Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realm of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies I want to know
So I can teach my children, oh
Pray tell me the story of young Cuchulainn
How his eyes were dark his expression sullen
And how he'd fight and always won
And how they cried when he was fallen
Oh tell me the story of the Queen of this land
And how her sons died at her own hand
And how fools obey commands
Oh tell me the legends of long ago
Where the mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Will she no come back to me
Will she no come back to me
Oh Shenandoah I hear you calling
Far away you rolling river
Roll down the mountain side
On down on down go lassie go
Oh Tell me the legends of long ago
When the kings and queens would dance in the realms of the Black Rose
Play me the melodies so I might know
So I can tell my children, oh
My Roisin Dubh is my one and only true love
It was a joy that Joyce brought to me
While William Butler waits
And Oscar, he's going Wilde
Ah sure, Brendan where have you Behan?
Looking for a girl with green eyes
My dark Rosaleen is my only colleen
That Georgie knows Best
But Van is the man
Starvation once again
Drinking whiskey in the jar-o
Synge's Playboy of the Western World
As Shaw, Sean I was born and reared there
Where the Mountains of Mourne come down to the sea
Is such a long, long way from Tipperary
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Foreign Lands
You may roam the wide seas over, follow, meet, and cross the sun,
Sail as far as ships can sail, and travel far as trains can run;
You may ride and tramp wherever range or plain or sea expands,
But the crowd has been before you, and you’ll not find ‘Foreign Lands;’
For the Early Days are over,
And no more the white-winged rover
Sinks the gale-worn coast of England bound for bays in Foreign Lands.
Foreign Lands are in the distance dim and dreamlike, faint and far,
Long ago, and over yonder, where our boyhood fancies are,
For the land is by the railway cramped as though with iron bands,
And the steamship and the cable did away with Foreign Lands.
Ah! the days of blue and gold!
When the news was six months old—
But the news was worth the telling in the days of Foreign Lands.
Here we slave the dull years hopeless for the sake of Wool and Wheat
Here the homes of ugly Commerce—niggard farm and haggard street;
Yet our mothers and our fathers won the life the heart demands—
Less than fifty years gone over, we were born in Foreign Lands.
When the gipsies stole the children still, in village tale and song,
And the world was wide to travel, and the roving spirit strong;
When they dreamed of South Sea Islands, summer seas and coral strands—
Then the bravest hearts of England sailed away to Foreign Lands,
‘Fitting foreign’—flood and field—
Half the world and orders sealed—
And the first and best of Europe went to fight in Foreign Lands.
Canvas towers on the ocean—homeward bound and outward bound—
Glint of topsails over islands—splash of anchors in the sound;
Then they landed in the forests, took their strong lives in their hands,
And they fought and toiled and conquered—making homes in Foreign Lands,
Through the cold and through the drought—
Further on and further out—
Winning half the world for England in the wilds of Foreign Lands.
Love and pride of life inspired them when the simple village hearts
Followed Master Will and Harry—gone abroad to ‘furrin parts’
By our townships and our cities, and across the desert sands
Are the graves of those who fought and died for us in Foreign Lands—
Gave their young lives for our sake
(Was it all a grand mistake?)
Sons of Master Will and Harry born abroad in Foreign Lands!
Ah, my girl, our lives are narrow, and in sordid days like these,
I can hate the things that banished ‘Foreign Lands across the seas,’
But with all the world before us, God above us—hearts and hands,
I can sail the seas in fancy far away to Foreign Lands.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Eyes of Green
Green eyes fresh like spring make feelings grow,
Green eyes free like prairies make hearts run.
Black lashes like deep winter or wide spread plains
Draw out fresh, free, green eyes.
poem by Drew Zoromski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Winter
It will be long ere 'neath the sunlight dimpling,
The mountain snows melt back to earth's still breast,
Ere swallows build, and wayward brooklets wimpling
O'er pebbly beds, wind by the pewee's nest,
Ere swells the lily's cup, ere transport strong
Thrills in the bluebird's lay,—it will be long!
It will be long ere dews and fresh'ning showers
Descend where latticed roses languid burn,
Ere, pale from exile, nodding wayside flowers
And timid woodland darlings home return,
Ere vesper-sparrows chant their Delphian song,
And larks at sunrise sing,—it will be long!
But though fierce blow the winds through forests shrouded,
Where snows, for leafy verdure, cheerless cling,
Though seas moan wild, and skies are darkly clouded,—
Within the heart that loves 't is always spring!
There memories and hopes, fresh-budding, throng,
And faith forgets that Winter lingers long.
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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From the Forests
Where in a green, moist, myrtle dell
The torrent voice rings strong
And clear, above a star-bright well,
I write this woodland song.
The melodies of many leaves
Float in a fragrant zone;
And here are flowers by deep-mossed eaves
That day has never known.
I'll weave a garland out of these,
The darlings of the birds,
And send it over singing seas
With certain sunny words -
With certain words alive with light
Of welcome for a thing
Of promise, born beneath the white,
Soft afternoon of Spring.
The faithful few have waited long
A life like this to see;
And they will understand the song
That flows to-day from me.
May every page within this book
Be as a radiant hour;
Or like a bank of mountain brook,
All flower and leaf and flower.
May all the strength and all the grace
Of Letters make it beam
As beams a lawn whose lovely face
Is as a glorious dream.
And may that strange divinity
That men call Genius write
Some deathless thing in days to be,
To fill those days with light.
Here where the free, frank waters run,
I pray this book may grow
A sacred candour like the sun
Above the morning snow.
May noble thoughts in faultless words -
In clean white diction - make
It shine as shines the home of birds
And moss and leaf and lake.
This fair fresh life with joy I hail,
And this belief express,
Its days will be a brilliant tale
Of effort and success.
Here ends my song; I have a dream
Of beauty like the grace
Which lies upon the land of stream
In yonder mountain place.
poem by Henry Kendall
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In Summer
Oh, summer has clothed the earth
In a cloak from the loom of the sun!
And a mantle, too, of the skies' soft blue,
And a belt where the rivers run.
And now for the kiss of the wind,
And the touch of the air's soft hands,
With the rest from strife and the heat of life,
With the freedom of lakes and lands.
I envy the farmer's boy
Who sings as he follows the plow;
While the shining green of the young blades lean
To the breezes that cool his brow.
He sings to the dewy morn,
No thought of another's ear;
But the song he sings is a chant for kings
And the whole wide world to hear.
He sings of the joys of life,
Of the pleasures of work and rest,
From an o'erfull heart, without aim or art;
'T is a song of the merriest.
O ye who toil in the town,
And ye who moil in the mart,
Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong
Shall renew your joy of heart.
Oh, poor were the worth of the world
If never a song were heard,--
If the sting of grief had no relief,
And never a heart were stirred.
So, long as the streams run down,
And as long as the robins trill,
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
And sing in the face of ill.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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By The Seaside : The Secret Of The Sea
Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me
As I gaze upon the sea!
All the old romantic legends,
All my dreams, come back to me.
Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,
Such as gleam in ancient lore;
And the singing of the sailors,
And the answer from the shore!
Most of all, the Spanish ballad
Haunts me oft, and tarries long,
Of the noble Count Arnaldos
And the sailor's mystic song.
Like the long waves on a sea-beach,
Where the sand as silver shines,
With a soft, monotonous cadence,
Flow its unrhymed lyric lines;--
Telling how the Count Arnaldos,
With his hawk upon his hand,
Saw a fair and stately galley,
Steering onward to the land;--
How he heard the ancient helmsman
Chant a song so wild and clear,
That the sailing sea-bird slowly
Poised upon the mast to hear,
Till his soul was full of longing,
And he cried, with impulse strong,--
'Helmsman! for the love of heaven,
Teach me, too, that wondrous song!'
'Wouldst thou,'--so the helmsman answered,
'Learn the secret of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
Comprehend its mystery!'
In each sail that skims the horizon,
In each landward-blowing breeze,
I behold that stately galley,
Hear those mournful melodies;
Till my soul is full of longing
For the secret of the sea,
And the heart of the great ocean
Sends a thrilling pulse through me.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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When I Will Sing My Own Song
A time may come when i'll sing my own song,
And that time is coming fast.
I'll sing my own song,
Perhaps a lyrical song coloured with joy,
And maybe a dirge bursting with sorrow
A time will come then i'll sing my own song,
A song in praise of fallen heroes,
A song in huge honour of hunger
A song for incessant insecurity,
A song of unemployment.
One thing i don't know
Is whether the church will sing to this song,
And dance to its tunes, or make it
A song for offering of offerings
I don't know whether to make it secular;
If it be ungodly, perhaps it may be a hit.
When i'll sing my own song
Children will hop over hills in awe;
Mothers will sing its tune mutely,
And fathers will remain unsure whether to join
Not long, i will sing a song.
I will sing to my own song,
Then the world know i desired peace,
And love, and accord.
Then the world will know
I'm tired of wanton carnages,
And famines that breed hunger,
And being quagmired by floods,
And being mixed in hysteria
Of dirty and ethnical politics!
When i'll sing my own song,
I know it'll be long overdue.
It may never be heard anywhere
It may remain deep rooted within my heart;
Or i may never have money
To pay for its acceptance by the people!
poem by Eric Lungai
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Our Last Grand Camping Ground
On a pebly shore, where forevermore
Gently creeps a music laden wave --
In the meadows green, which beyond are seen,
Camps a conq'ring army, true and brave.
Shining are the weapons of this martial throng --
Crimson died their banner, battleworn so long;
But now they cast them down, and each receives a crown,
Whey they chant their never ending song:
"Our Saviour and our King!
His victories shall ring!
His conquests thro' eternity shall sound!
(And war shall be no)
War (more) shall be no more --
we have reach'd the shore --
Safely reach'd our last grand camping ground."
While thro' lovely dells, grander music swells --
Richer chords from rarer harps of gold --
List that soft refrain, that sweet vocal strain,
Wherein now the victors' deeds are told:
How they toil'd in darkness, battling the wrong --
How, in hours of weakness, Jesus made them strong.
Acknowledg'd as his own he seats them on his throne,
While they join the never ending song.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Oh! Green, Stay Green!
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
You glow and fade in distant skies,
You hide beneath the oceans deep,
You make the Earth so cheery to live,
You ward off famine and assure wealth,
You signal movement and ensure health,
You sooth the eyes and cool the hearts.
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
Green is the garb; God gave the Earth to wear,
Green is the harbinger of blooming spring,
Green – the forests that is home to beasts,
Green – the meadows, where the cattle graze,
Green – the prairies that stretch afar,
Green – the lawns that adorn the homes,
Green – the tuft of grass that grows beneath,
Green – the unripe fruits that hangs from boughs.
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
But Alas! The Green is fast fading out,
The verdant Earth, turned into an arid stretch,
Life made so horrid for man and beast,
And Nature mourns her doleful plight,
Toil hard to usher the Green again,
Never let the trees fall and rot,
Take from Nature just enough to make you go,
And keep in reserve what is due for the ones to come!
In the brilliant spectrum of rainbow hues,
Oh, Green! Thou art a ravishing shade.
poem by Valsa George
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Mountaineer-Song
BLOW, mountain-breeze! all wild, like thee,
Unfetter'd as thy wing, I rove;
With airy step and spirit free,
From snowy cliff, to shadowy grove!
And teach lone echoes to prolong,
From Caves remote, my sprightly song,
Blow, mountain-breeze!
No sigh for pomp or state I breathe,
For me, the sun-beam smiles in gold!
I envy not the victor's wreath,
For me the Alpine flow'rs unfold!
Gay, simple, free, I rove along,
And wood and hill resound my song,
Blow, mountain-breeze!
When morning wakes, with humid eye,
And cheek that kindling, bright'ning, glows;
When the soft blushes of the sky,
With roseate lustre tinge the snows;
I lead my flocks, I leave my home,
And carol gaily as I roam,
Blow, mountain-breeze!
When fervid beams of noon invade,
And bloom and verdure faint with heat;
The palm, the pine, the cedar-shade,
Afford me still a cool retreat!
Where shelter'd from th' oppressive ray,
I wake soft echoes with my lay,
Blow, mountain-breeze!
Deep in a glen, retir'd and green,
How sweetly smiles my native cot;
Where peace, and joy, and love serene,
Have sanctified the tranquil spot!
How blest! there ever to remain,
And warble still th' untutor'd strain,
Blow, mountain-breeze!
In rich festoons, the mantling vine,
Embow'ring, o'er its casement waves;
And bloomy clusters dangling, shine,
Thro' tendrils and luxuriant leaves—
While, as I train each wayward spray,
I carol still the artless lay,
Blow, mountain-breeze!
Mine is the breath of zephyr pure,
The Alpine sweet that scents the gale;
The slumber light, the life secure,
The boundless range of hill and dale!
Fearless I rove, exploring, free,
Spirit of air! all wild like thee,
Blow, mountain-breeze!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Voice Of The Heart
(j.t.stanley/john bettis/b.roberts)
Sometimes when your world seems so big and real
You may run to the shelter of walls
Sometimes you may wish
You could be like your shadow
It fits wherever it falls
Whenever the nights too deep to find
And the morning is too far away
Wherever you are
Theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Tonight if a dream should come to your sleep
With a picture you dont wanna see
Go where it leads, from secret to secret
You are what you want to be
Whenever the sun refuses to shine
And you cant chase the storm clouds away
Wherever you are theres always a star to guide the way
There to guide the way
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
Living in a private world
There are times when its hard to break through
So dont give up
Each time you hurt youve got nothing to lose
Theres a voice inside of you
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We all will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(listen)
If you dream it strong enough
(dream it)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find the answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
(long enough)
If you dream it strong enough
(strong enough)
A door inside will open
And a light will flood the dark
Like a song too long unsung
Or a soul forever young
We will find an answer
In the voice of the heart
If you listen long enough
If you dream it strong enough
In the voice
In the voice of the heart
We will find the answer
Like a song too long unsung
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come Home My Son, Come Home
As I travel across this country
the land that I love best
with its snowy peaked mountains
that lay out of reach in the west.
The rivers and the lakes
where nature grows at its best.
The forests and the plains
that each has their part
in the land I love the best.
I write from a distant shore
with dreams of coming home again
ever always on my mind.
Seeing once again friends
from a long, long time ago.
The land that I live in is not to my desire.
My home is ten thousand miles away,
and each time I see it,
it’s like the birth of a new day.
The cities are filled with people
and in the countryside; you can breathe in the fresh air.
The more I dream about it,
the more I wish to be there.
It is not the land of my birth,
but the place that I call home.
That distant country keeps calling to me
come home my son, come home.
31 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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William Bede Dalley
That love of letters which is as the light
Of deathless verse, intense, ineffable,
Hath made this scholar’s nature like the white,
Pure Roman soul of whom the poets tell.
He having lived so long with lords of thought,
The grand hierophants of speech and song,
Hath from the high, august communion caught
Some portion of their inspiration strong.
The clear, bright atmosphere through which he looks
Is one by no dim, close horizon bound;
The power shed as flame from noble books
Hath made for him a larger world around.
And he, thus strengthened with the fourfold force
Which scholarship to genius gives, is one
That liberal thinkers, pausing in their course,
With fine esteem are glad to look upon.
He, with the faultless intuition born
Of splendid faculties, sees things aright,
And all his strong, immeasurable scorn
Falls like a thunder on the hypocrite.
But for the sufferer and the son of shame
On whom remorse — a great, sad burden — lies,
His kindness glistens like a morning flame,
Immense compassion shines within his eyes.
Firm to the Church by which his fathers stood,
But tolerant to every form of creed,
He longs for universal brotherhood,
And is a Christian gentleman indeed.
These in his honour. May his life be long,
And, like a summer with a brilliant close,
As full of music as a perfect song,
As radiant as a rich, unhandled rose.
poem by Henry Kendall
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The Echo
Of A Ballad Sung By H. Plunket Greene To His Old School
Twice three hundred boys were we,
Long ago, long ago,
Where the Downs look out to the Severn Sea.
Clifton for aye!
We held by the game and hailed the team,
For many could play where few could dream.
City of Song shall stand alway.
Some were for profit and some for pride,
Long ago, long ago,
Some for the flag they lived and died.
Clifton for aye!
The work of the world must still be done,
And minds are many though truth be one.
City of Song shall stand alway.
But a lad there was to his fellows sang,
Long ago, long ago,
And soon the world to his music rang.
Clifton for aye!
Follow your Captains, crown your Kings,
But what will ye give to the lad that sings?
City of Song shall stand alway.
For the voice ye hear is the voice of home,
Long ago, long ago,
And the voice of Youth with the world to roam.
Clifton for aye!
The voice of passion and human tears,
And the voice of the vision that lights the years.
City of Song shall stand alway.
poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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The Emigrant’s Address To America
All hail to thee, noble and generous Land!
With thy prairies boundless and wide,
Thy mountains that tower like sentinels grand,
Thy lakes and thy rivers of pride!
Thy forests that hide in their dim haunted shades
New flowers of loveliness rare—
Thy fairy like dells and thy bright golden glades,
Thy warm skies as Italy’s fair.
Here Plenty has lovingly smiled on the soil,
And ’neath her sweet, merciful reign
The brave and long suff’ring children of toil
Need labor no longer in vain.
I ask of thee shelter from lawless harm,
Food—raiment—and promise thee now,
In return, the toil of a stalwart arm,
And the sweat of an honest brow.
But think not, I pray, that this heart is bereft
Of fond recollections of home;
That I e’er can forget the dear land I have left
In the new one to which I have come.
Oh no! far away in my own sunny isle
Is a spot my affection worth,
And though dear are the scenes that around me now smile,
More dear is the place of my birth!
There hedges of hawthorn scent the sweet air,
And, thick as the stars of the night,
The daisy and primrose, with flow’rets as fair,
Gem that soil of soft verdurous light.
And there points the spire of my own village church,
That long has braved time’s iron power,
With its bright glitt’ring cross and ivy wreathed porch—
Sure refuge in sorrow’s dark hour!
Whilst memory lasts think not e’er from this breast
Can pass the fond thoughts of my home:
No! I ne’er can forget the land I have left
In the new one to which I have come!
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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A Song
well i hate to sing this song
this song written in black on white
the black words so prominent on the white sheet
in the proclamation of democracy
well, is there at all democracy in Whitman's world or to be exact
white men's world? Whitman's song of a great land and love of comrades how deceptive, unloving
oh what a black discovery to know that poets
too could be blinded to the real state of the world
racism, injustice; the loads of chained souls that arrived to greet
the Statue of Liberty, epitome of world freedom
in actuality always chained, mocked in black and white
oh the repair of the Statue a hundred years later
the main desire to whitewash it, whiten it
the last thing the statue should turn is black
this great land, how i wish the vision of liberty
would be viewed in the the Chinese principle of Ying and Yang
an equilibrium of black and white contributing to
a wholesome mind, body, spirit
in the plain of the wild i i cry out a justice song
day and night, of white light that brightens the dark night
and white stars that coujld only glitter sparkle like diamonds
in the darkness of the night
inspired by
A Song
COME, I will make the continent indissoluble;
I will make the most splendid race the sun ever yet shone upon;
I will make divine magnetic lands,
With the love of comrades,
With the life-long love of comrades.
I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of
America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over
the prairies;
I will make inseparable cities, with their arms about each other's
necks;
By the love of comrades,
By the manly love of comrades.
For you these, from me, O Democracy, to serve you, ma femme! 10
For you! for you, I am trilling these songs,
In the love of comrades,
In the high-towering love of comrades.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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(Untitled)
This world is big and so-awake
I stayed up late to hear your voice
This light is here to keep you warm
This song is here to keep you strong
I made a list of things to say
But all I really want to say
All I really want to say is
Hold her and keep him strong
While I'm away from here
Hold her and keep her strong
While I'm away from here
I've seen the world and so-awake
And stay up late to hear me sing
Just hold her
I've seen the world and so-awake
And stay up late to hear me sing
Just hold him
Hold her and keep her strong
While I'm away from here
Hold him and keep him strong
While I'm away from here
song performed by by R.E.M. from Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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