Song of the Torres Strait Islands
Bold Torres, the sailor, came and went,
with his swarthy, storm-worn band,
he saw Saavedra's Isle to north-
to south a loom of land.
He left unknowing his name would live
through ages with big fate,
as the first to stem with broad-bowed ship
the wash of the Northern Strait.
Round the western coast the Dutch ships crept,
seeking the hidden way;
some left their bones on that bare, west coast,
and the others sailed away.
Turned back, turned back, by reef and shoal,
twin guards of the narrow gate-
the path of the sun from the eastern seas-
they were mocked by the Northern Strait.
Year in, year out, the monsoons swept
o'er the isles of the coral shore,
The savage tossed in his frail canoe,
but the white man came no more.
No sail in sight at the flash of dawn!
No sail at the gloaming late!
Silent and still was the lonley pass-
Unsought was the Northern Strait.
A rattle of arms and a roll of drums,
and the meteor flag flies free,
as an English voice proclaims King George
Lord of the tropic sea.
The parrots scream as the volleys flash;
the gulls their haunts vacate;
and the 'south-east' fills the 'Endeavours' sails
as she heads through the Northern Strait.
And ever since then has our watch been kept
o'er the ships in the narrow way,
where the smoking funnels flare by night,
and the house-flags flaunt by day.
Ever the same strong south-east blows,
and ever we watch and wait,
the wardens we, in Australia's name,
the guard of the Northern Strait.
poem by Ernest Favenc
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The Ports of the Open Sea
Down here where the ships loom large in
The gloom when the sea-storms veer,
Down here on the south-west margin
Of the western hemisphere,
Where the might of a world-wide ocean
Round the youngest land rolls free—
Storm-bound from the world’s commotion,
Lie the Ports of the Open Sea.
By the bluff where the grey sand reaches
To the kerb of the spray-swept street,
By the sweep of the black sand beaches
From the main-road travellers’ feet,
By the heights like a work Titanic,
By a bluff lined coast volcanic
Lie the Ports of the wild South-east.
By the steeps of the snow-capped range,
By the scarped and terraced hills—
Far away from the swift life-changes,
From the wear of the strife that kills—
Where the land in the Spring seems younger
Than a land of the Earth might be—
Oh! the hearts of the rovers hunger
For the Ports of the Open Sea.
But the captains watch and hearken
For a sign of the South Sea wrath—
Let the face of the South-east darken,
And they turn to the ocean path.
Ay, the sea-boats dare not linger,
Whatever the cargo be;
When the South-east lifts a finger
By the Ports of the Open Sea.
South by the bleak Bluff faring,
North where the Three Kings wait,
South-east the tempest daring—
Flight through the storm-tossed strait;
Yonder a white-winged roamer
Struck where the rollers roar—
Where the great green froth-flaked comber
Breaks down on a black-ribbed shore.
For the South-east lands are dread lands
To the sailor in the shrouds,
Where the low clouds loom like headlands,
And the black bluffs blur like clouds.
When the breakers rage to windward
And the lights are masked a-lee,
And the sunken rocks run inward
To a Port of the Open Sea.
But oh! for the South-east weather—
The sweep of the three-days’ gale—
When, far through the flax and heather,
The spindrift drives like hail.
Glory to man’s creations
That drive where the gale grows gruff,
When the homes of the sea-coast stations
Flash white from the dark’ning bluff!
When the swell of the South-east rouses
The wrath of the Maori sprite,
And the brown folk flee their houses
And crouch in the flax by night,
And wait as they long have waited—
In fear as the brown folk be—
The wave of destruction fated
For the Ports of the Open Sea.
Grey cloud to the mountain bases,
Wild boughs that rush and sweep;
On the rounded hills the tussocks
Like flocks of flying sheep;
A lonely storm-bird soaring
O’er tussock, fern and tree;
And the boulder beaches roaring
The Hymn of the Open Sea.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Hawker, the Standard Bearer
The grey gull sat on a floating whale,
On a floating whale sat he,
And he told his tale of the storm and the gale,
And the ships that he saw with steam and sail,
As he flew by the Northern Sea.
"I have seen a sign that is strange and new,
That I never before did see:
A flying ship that roared as it flew,
The storm and the tempest driving through,
It carried a flag and it carried a crew,
Now what would that be?" said he.
"And the flag was a Jack with stars displayed,
A flag that is new to me;
For it does not ply in the Northern trade,
But it drove through the storm-wrack unafraid,
Now, what is that flag?" said he.
"I have seen that flag that is starred with white,"
Said a southern gull, said he,
"And saw it fly in a bloody fight,
When the raider Emden turned in flight,
And crashed on the Cocos lee."
"And who are these folk whose flag is first
Of all the flags that fly
To dare the storm and the fog accurst,
Of the great North Sea where the bergs are nursed,
And the Northern Lights ride high?"
"The Australian folk," said a lone sea-mew,
"The Australian flag," said he.
"It is strange that a folk that is far and few
Should fly their flag where there never flew
Another flag!" said he.
"I have followed their flag in the fields of France,
With its white stars flying free,
And no misfortune and no mischance
Could turn them back from their line of advance,
Or the line that they held," said he.
"Whenever there's ever rule to break,
Wherever they oughtn't to be,
With a death to dare and a risk to take,
A track to find or a way to make,
You will find them there," said he.
"They come from a land that is parched with thirst,
An inland land," said he,
"On risk and danger their breed is nursed,
And thus it happens their flag is first
To fly in the Northern Sea."
"Though Hawker perished, he overcame
The risks of the storm and the sea,
And his name shall be written in stars of flame,
On the topmost walls of the Temple of Fame,
For the rest of the world to see."
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Open Road
THE roads of the Sea
Are thronged with merchantmen;
East and West, North and South
They go and come again.
All precious merchandise
They bear in their hold:
Lest the people be starving
In the night and cold.
Now tell me, good merchants,
How this thing can be
That the white ships are thronging
The roads of the sea?
For there's death in the skies
And there's death on the earth;
And men talked of famine
And a frozen hearth.
Yet the ships they go crowding
The roads of the sea;
They bring home their treasures
To you and to me.
O listen, good people,
And hearing, praise God,
That the watch-dogs are keeping
The ships on their road!
They sit watchful and steady
Where the North winds blow;
Sleepless they are keeping
The roads the ships go.
In the day, in the hour,
They will spring--until then,
Their eyes keep the courses
Of the merchantmen.
Forget not, good people,
When ye heap the white board,
When ye draw to the hearth-fire,
To praise the Lord,
That the watch-dogs unsleeping
Keep the roads of the Sea,
Up by the Northern Lights
Where the great ships be.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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God Damn
Oh your nothing but a
That's right, your nothing but a prick, my noveistic imbosole
A stupid, my novieistic imbosole
A stupid, my novieistic imbosole
Don't point your rules at me
A stupid, my novieistic imbosole
A stupid, my novieistic imbosole
A stupid, my novieistic imbosole
Don't point your rules at me
All of your beliefs
I'm about to tell you strait up yeah
All of your beliefs
I'm about to tell you strait up yeah
All of your beliefs
I'm about to tell you strait up yeah
All of your beliefs (keep your vision away from me)
All of your beliefs
I'm about to tell you strait up yeah
All of your beliefs
I'm about to tell you strait up yeah
All of your beliefs
I'm about to tell you strait up yeah
All of your beliefs (keep your vision away from me)
Ohhhh
Ohhhh
Ohhhh
Ohhhh yeah
Goddamn
Goddamn, maybe I don't have a plan
I'm sucking up to the moneyman
Something that I will never do now
So I look
I hit him for all he took
Cuz everything I've learned in books
Has all but lied to me
I can't, no I can't understand
That I step into a land of my old man but
I can't, I won't pass away now
So I live all the pain everyday
So you can't ever say that
From you, I can't build the way
And at the time, you people are judging me
Cuz you can't be what you see
Is not anybody's fault now
Let you come fall into a religious day
Something that I really hate
In stilled, I'm by your family
Well goddamn I cannot understand
Living to your dreams left by your clan but
Like that, I won't pass away now
So I live all the pain everyday
I don't wa
song performed by by Flaw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Flying-Fish Sailor
'The Western Ocean rolls and roars
From Sandy Hook to Europe's shores,
From Fastnet Light to Portland, Maine,
And Newport News and back again,
With Boston, Salem, Montreal,
And plenty o' ports both large and small,
And them that like may keep 'em all,
Not me,' says the flying-fish sailor.
The Western Ocean roars and rolls
With all its deeps and all its shoals
And many a thundering wintry gale,
And many a storm of rain and hail,
And let who likes have sleet and snow,
And driving fog and drifting floe,
For South away and Eastward Ho!
Is the road for the flying-fish sailor.
In Blackwall Dock she is moored,
Her hatches on and her stores aboard,
In Blackwall Dock she lies to-day,
And she will sail when the morning's grey
For Sunda Strait and Singapore,
And Palembang and plenty more,
And many a swarming Eastern shore
That's known to the flying-fish sailor.
The girls they'll cry and the lads'll shout
When the blooming tugboat warps her out:
We'll drop the pilot off the Nore
With fond farewells to take ashore
To mothers, wives and sweethearts too -
Love to Sally and love to Sue -
And that's the last for a year or two
You'll see of the flying-fish sailor.
We'll drop the tug and we'll bear away
Down the Channel, across the Bay;
The Western Isles we'll leave behind
And make the Line with the good Trade wind:
We'll see the dolphins sport and play,
(And haul our yards ten times a day),
While South'ard still we beat our way,
The way of the flying-fish sailor.
And forty south when we have passed,
Her easting down she runs at last,
Where the white whale swims in the far South Sea,
And the brave West winds blow full and free:
The good old winds they bluster and blow
The same as they used to years ago,
And the good old stars that well we know
Look down on the flying-fish sailor.
The darned old hooker 'll log sixteen,
She'll ship it heavy and ship it green,
She'll roll along with her lee-rail under,
While the big seas break aboard like thunder:
The pots and pans they'll carry away,
And the cook go down on his knees and pray,
But let the seas roar as they may,
All's one to the flying-fish sailor.
At Sydney next a call we'll pay,
And meet a pal on Circular Quay;
We'll glance at Java Head also,
And Fuji's crest of frozen snow,
And slant-eyed girls in far Japan,
Wun Lee, Wang Ho and little Yo San,
With braided hair and twinkling fan,
Will smile on a flying-fish sailor.
And last of all the day'll come round
When the blooming mudhook leaves the ground,
And to old England we return,
Our pockets filled with pay to burn,
With a painted fan and an ivory comb
From foreign towns beyond the foam,
And a golden ring for the girl at home
That waits for the flying-fish sailor.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Give It To Me Strait
(reese wilson/stephen grauberger)
(track 2 - time 2:46)
Bartender I may sit here on this barstool all night long
But I wont need much attention
I just need some time alone
So if youll give me some quarters and a bottle of your best
You can just sit back and let the jukebox do the rest
Give it to me strait
Sing am I blue while I sit here and cry
And tell me how my babys gotten so good at goodbye
Its gonna take a fireman to put this old flame out
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
Lets start off nice and easy
Something like if I know me
And well work our way up slowly to fool hearted memory
Yeah Ive got all night long to sit right here and fall apart
So dont leave out one single song
I know em all by broken heart
Give it to me strait
Sing am I blue
While I sit here and cry
And tell me how my babys gotten so good at goodbye
Its gonna take a fireman to put this old flame out
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
There aint one country singer
That aint good for a bad heartache
And for me theres nothing smoother
Than a good stiff shot of strait
Its gonna take a fireman to put this old flame out
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
So come on give it to me strait
Before I come unwound
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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4. Blow me down
The North wind blew on Monday
As the East wind got the flu
The West wind blew on Tuesday
As the South wind never knew
The North East wind had Wednesday
As the South West wasn’t chuffed
The North West blew on Thursday
As the South East hardly puffed
The East and West blew Friday
As the others had a rest
The North and South blew Saturday
As the weekends were the best
The lot of them had Sunday
As the winds turned into storm
The whole of them had Monday off
As the week got back to norm
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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When the Great Gray Ships Come In
To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o’er mapless miles of sea,
On winds and tides the gospel rides that the furthermost isles are free,
And the furthermost isles make answer, harbor, and height, and hill,
Breaker and beach cry, each to each, “’Tis the Mother who calls! Be still!”
Mother! new-found, beloved, and strong to hold from harm,
Stretching to these across the seas the shield of her sovereign arm,
Who summoned the guns of her sailor sons, who bade her navies roam,
Who calls again to the leagues of main, and who calls them this time home!
And the great gray ships are silent, and the weary watchers rest;
The black cloud dies in the August skies, and deep in the golden west
Invisible hands are limning a glory of crimson bars,
And far above is the wonder of a myriad wakened stars!
Peace! As the tidings silence the strenuous cannonade,
Peace at last! is the bugle blast the length of the long blockade,
And eyes of vigil weary are lit with the glad release,
From ship to ship and from lip to lip it is “Peace! Thank God for peace.”
Ah, in the sweet hereafter Columbia still shall show
The sons of these who swept the seas how she bade them rise and go,—
How, when the stirring summons smote on her children’s ear,
South and North at the call stood forth, and the whole land answered, “Here!”
For the soul of the soldier’s story and the heart of the sailor’s song
Are all of those who meet their foes as right should meet with wrong,
Who fight their guns till the foeman runs, and then, on the decks they trod,
Brave faces raise, and give the praise to the grace of their country’s God!
Yes, it is good to battle, and good to be strong and free,
To carry the hearts of a people to the uttermost ends of sea,
To see the day steal up the bay where the enemy lies in wait,
To run your ship to the harbor’s lip and sink her across the strait:—
But better the golden evening when the ships round heads for home,
And the long gray miles slip swiftly past in a swirl of seething foam,
And the people wait at the haven’s gate to greet the men who win!
Thank God for peace! Thank God for peace, when the great gray ships come in!
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Land of Trope
The Northern Territory's
Earnt qualities of trope
Have made me qualify the name
To Northern Terratrope.
South Australia too
Though not so trope-endowed
Is by no means trope-astray-
vis-a-vis Victoria
In a little-bro-big-bro-big-bro-little-bro way.
We've often thought of name change:
My favorite, 'South Sandwich Meat'.
But now the North is called The Trope,
'The Meat' I will delete
And call it Southern Terratrope.
O Ntropy and Stropy,
With names we'll have our day.
Miss N Trope hates folks.
Just call me Strop, OK?
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XVIII. -- King Olaf And Earl Sigvald
On the gray sea-sands
King Olaf stands,
Northward and seaward
He points with his hands.
With eddy and whirl
The sea-tides curl,
Washing the sandals
Of Sigvald the Earl.
The mariners shout,
The ships swing about,
The yards are all hoisted,
The sails flutter out.
The war-horns are played,
The anchors are weighed,
Like moths in the distance
The sails flit and fade.
The sea is like lead
The harbor lies dead,
As a corse on the sea-shore,
Whose spirit has fled!
On that fatal day,
The histories say,
Seventy vessels
Sailed out of the bay.
But soon scattered wide
O'er the billows they ride,
While Sigvald and Olaf
Sail side by side.
Cried the Earl: 'Follow me!
I your pilot will be,
For I know all the channels
Where flows the deep sea!'
So into the strait
Where his foes lie in wait,
Gallant King Olaf
Sails to his fate!
Then the sea-fog veils
The ships and their sails;
Queen Sigrid the Haughty,
Thy vengeance prevails!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Strait Man
You mislead my eyes
For the strait man you wrote
How this brain works
I am beginning not to understand
The straight man you were writing
Did not have the the gee (“g”)
And the itch (“h”)
That you etched through the lines
You are indeed witty
Referring to the narrow body of water
Connecting two other bodies
The estrecho, aprieto, knipa, the sikinti
The sor durum, the ciesnina, uzina, prieliv,
The sund, the bogaz
Whatever it was it was so difficult
That distress, or need:
Ill and penniless,
The strait man was in sad straits indeed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Farewell
FAREWELL, and when forth
I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles
Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles,
Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south,
Isle upon island, sea upon sea,
Why should I sail, why should the breeze?
I have been young, and I have counted friends.
A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late.
Why should I from isle to isle
Sail, a hopeless sailor?
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Dilemma
I love and I need you
Nelly, I love you, I do
Need you
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
Boy, you know Im crazy over you
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
You know Im crazy over you
Uh-uh-uh-uh
I met this chick and she just moved right up the block
From me
And she got the hots for me, the finest thing I need
To see
But oh, no, no, she got a man and a son, oh-oh, but
Thats okay
cause I wait for my cue and just listen, play my
Position
Like a shortstop, pick up erything mami hittin
And in no time I better make this friend mine and
Thats for sure
cause i-i never been the type to break up a happy
Home
But theres something bout baby girl, I just cant
Leave her lone
So tell me, ma, whats it gonna be
She said, you dont know what you mean to me, come
On
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
Boy, you know Im crazy over you
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
You know Im crazy over you
Uh-uh-uh-uh
I see a lot in your look and I never say a word
I know how n****s start actin trippin , and hate up
All the girls
And theres no way nelly go for it
Aint f***in with no dame, as you could see
But i-i like your steeze, your style, your whole
Demeanor
The way you come through and holler, and swoop me in
His two-seater
Now thats gangsta and I got special ways to thank ya,
Dont you forget it
But it aint that easy for you to back up and leave
Him
But you and me we got ties for different reasons
I respect that and right before I turned to leave
She said, you dont know what you mean to me, come
On
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
Boy, you know Im crazy over you
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
You know Im crazy over you
Sing it for me, k
I love and I need you
Nelly, I love you, I do
And its more than youll ever know
Boy, its for sure
You can always count on my love
Forever more, yeah, yeah
East coast, I know youre shakin right
Down south, I know youre bouncin right
West coast, I know youre walkin right
(cause you dont know what you mean to me)
Midwest, I see you swingin right
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
Boy, you know Im crazy over you
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
You know Im crazy over you
East coast, I know youre shakin right
Down south, I know youre bouncin right
West coast, I know youre walkin right
(you dont know what you mean to me)
Midwest, I see you swingin right
East coast, youre still shakin right
Down south, I know youre bouncin right
West coast, I know youre walkin right
(you dont know what you mean to me)
Midwest, youre still swingin right
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
Boy, you know Im crazy over you
No matter what I do
All I think about is you
Even when Im with my boo
You know Im crazy over you
Yeah, yeah
East coast, I know youre shakin right
Down south, I know youre bouncin right
West coast, I know youre walkin right
(you dont know what you mean to me)
Midwest, I see you swingin right
East coast, youre still shakin right
Down south, I know youre bouncin right
West coast, I know youre walkin right
(you dont know what you mean to me)
Midwest, youre still swingin right
song performed by by Nelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Landfall
'Outgoing: the Ooonah for Burnie'....
How often the radio spoke;
Till the stout little ship and her journey
Grew into a mild sort of joke.
But no longer her donkeyman grapples
His slings by the sweet island shore
For a cargo of timber or apples.
The Oonah goes sailing no more.
No more; save the landfall she's making,
The last, on her funeral trip
To the land where she goes for her breaking
Grim graveyard of many a ship.
And a few, it may be, will go grieving
To know of that busy craft's fate,
Who many times hooved with her heaving
As Oonah rolled over the strait.
There many proud, tall-masted schooners
She passed in the night, ships o' sail;
While stars winked o'er fond honeymooners
Who whispered soft words by her rail.
And tourists and grave politicians,
Who knew the old Oonah full well,
In all sorts of weather conditions,
Have had many a story to tell.
And many a soul who sailed with her,
Since Oonah first breasted the foam,
Has taken the long voyage thither,
To every man's ultimate home.
Who knows now what mystical journey
Those sail, to the sounds of high mirth
As a ghost-ships heads hull-down for Burnie,
With a complement not of the earth.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Knights Of The 21st Century
Words unspoken, sworn in secrecy
A burning flame for the ones who believe
The prophecy
Revelations from the sun as of the moon
In seven nights we became history
The prophecy
On a cold dark night
We set our sails to search for land so far away
Searching for the truth
There's a howl in the wind
On this mystic trail of water we sail on
The source of youth
And the storm breaks loose on the seven seas
Tag on the signs on the mounting sun
Northern light is shining on for us
Breaking the ice in search for tomorrow
Setting the sails into the future
Leave all your fears and your sorrows
From the mountain side
Came a twisted wind, it brought us new insight
Whispering these words
Come in the midst you'll see
Said a voice, I thought it was the prophecy
The secrecy unheard
And on the violent sea there's tranquillity
We saw the signs on the mountain side
Northern light is shining on for us
Breaking the ice in search for tomorrow
Setting the sails into the future
Leave all your fears and your sorrows
A secret passage never to be found
In front of us a delusion of sight
The prophecy
From the mountains and the rivers down below
A silent breeze, there's a wail in the wind
The prophecy
We've come from a land so far away
We bow down to the words you pray
Storming down the mountain side
No place to go, no place to hide
Here we stand under of cover the moonlight
Oh, the prophecy was bound to fail
Here we are, nowhere to be found
We're trapped in another world and the journey's just begun
Ah, ah, ah
Northern light is shining on for us
Breaking the ice in search for tomorrow
Setting the sails into the future
Leave all your fears and your sorrows
Northern light is shining on for us
Breaking the ice in search for tomorrow
Setting the sails into the future
Leave all your fears and your sorrows
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Secondly I would like to make continuous efforts of stabilising cross Strait relations, eventually reaching peace across the Taiwan strait and stability and security in the Asia Pacific region.
quote by Chen Shui-bian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Acres Wild
Ill make love to you
In all good places
Under black mountains
In open spaces.
By deep brown rivers
That slither darkly
Through far marches
Where the blue hare races.
Come with me to the winged isle ---
Northern fathers western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild.
Ill make love to you
In narrow side streets
With shuttered windows,
Crumbling chimneys.
Come with me to the weary town ---
Discos silent under tiles
That slide from roof-tops, scatter softly
On concrete marches of acres wild.
By red bricks pointed
With cement fingers
Flaking damply from sagging shoulders.
Come with me to the winged isle ---
Northern fathers western child.
Where the dance of ages is playing still
Through far marches of acres wild.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Northern Star
Shine so brightly now, Oh northern star!
Shine out bright and clear tonight, Oh northern star!
I say shine out like the sunlight now, Oh northern star!
I say shine out from the darkness now, Oh Alpha-star!
From Hill-tops to the mountain tops!
From the deserts to the Sandy-hills!
From the forests to the jungle paths!
From the Sea-sides to the Ocean-shores!
I say shine out like the sunlight now, Oh northern star!
Shine so brightly now, Oh northern star!
I say shine out bright and clear tonight, Oh northern star!
I will shine out from the darkness, like the northern star!
I will shine out from the rubbles now, Like the Alphastar!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Island Of Endless Play
Said Willie to Tom 'Let us hie away
To the wonderful Island of Endless Play.
It lies off the border of 'No School Land'
And abounds with pleasures, I understand.
There boys go swimming whenever they please
In a lovely river right under the trees.
And marbles are free, no one has to buy;
And kites of all sizes are ready to fly.
We sail down the Isthmus of Idle Delight,
We sail and we sail for a day and a night.
And then if favored by billows and breeze
We land in the harbor of Do-as-you-please.
And their lies the Island of Endless Play
With no one to say to us Must or Nay.
Books are not known in that land so fair,
Teachers are stoned if they set foot there.
Hurrah for the Island so glad and free,
That is the country for you and me.'
So away went Willie and Tom together
On a pleasure boat, in the lazy weather,
And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze
Right into the harbor of 'Do-as-you-please!'
Where boats and tackle and marbles and kites
Were waiting them there in this Land of Delights.
They dwelt on the Island of Endless Play
For five long years; then one sad day
A strange dark ship sailed up to the strand,
And 'Ho! for the voyage to Stupid Land.'
The Captain cried with a terrible noise
As he seized the frightened and struggling boys,
And threw them into the dark Ship's hold,
And off and away sailed the Captain bold.
They vainly begged him to let them out,
He answered only with scoff and shout.
'Boys that don't study or work,' said he,
'Must sail one day down the Ignorant Sea
To Stupid Land by the No-Book strait,
With Captain Time on the Pitiless Fate.'
Then he let out the sails and away went the three,
Over the waters of Ignorant Sea.
Out and away to Stupid Land,
And they live there yet, I understand.
And there's where every one goes, they say,
Who seeks the Island of Endless Play.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Twilight In The North
O THE long northern twilight between the day and the night,
When the heat and the weariness of the world are ended quite:
When the hills grow dim as dreams, and the crystal river seems
Like that River of Life from out the Throne where the blessèd walk in white.
O the weird northern twilight, which is neither night nor day,
When the amber wake of the long-set sun still marks his western way:
And but one great golden star in the deep blue east afar
Warns of sleep, and dark, and midnight--of oblivion and decay.
O the calm northern twilight, when labor is all done,
And the birds in drowsy twitter have dropped silent one by one:
And nothing stirs or sighs in mountains, waters, skies,--
Earth sleeps--but her heart waketh, till the rising of the sun.
O the sweet, sweet twilight, just before the time of rest,
When the black clouds are driven away, and the stormy winds suppressed:
And the dead day smiles so bright, filling earth and heaven with light,--
You would think 't was dawn come back again--but the light is in the west.
O the grand solemn twilight, spreading peace from pole to pole!--
Ere the rains sweep o'er the hillsides, and the waters rise and roll,
In the lull and the calm, come, O angel with the palm--
In the still norther twilight, Azrael, take my soul.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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