The River
WHY hurry, little river,
Why hurry to the sea?
There is nothing there to do
But to sink into the blue
And all forgotten be.
There is nothing on that shore
But the tides for evermore,
And the faint and far-off line
Where the winds across the brine
For ever, ever roam
And never find a home.
Why hurry, little river,
From the mountains and the mead,
Where the graceful elms are sleeping
And the quiet cattle feed?
The loving shadows cool
The deep and restful pool;
And every tribute stream
Brings its own sweet woodland dream
Of the mighty woods that sleep
Where the sighs of earth are deep,
And the silent skies look down
On the savage mountain's frown.
Oh, linger, little river,
Your banks are all so fair,
Each morning is a hymn of praise,
Each evening is a prayer.
All day the sunbeams glitter
On your shallows and your bars,
And at night the dear God stills you
With the music of the stars.
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Down On The River
Down on the river it's an easy kind of life
Everybody here's feeling fine
No need to worry or get in a hurry
Nothing to spend but time
Light up a smoke and tell a few jokes
And pass the old jug around
We're gonna get right on a Saturday night
When the sun goes down
(CHORUS)
Down on the river
Down on the river
Just some old boys making a lot of noise
Down on the river
Down on the river
Down on the river
If anyone calls, tell them we're all
Down on the river
We'll go fishing by the light of the moon
And bait them hooks by hand
And early in the morning we'll take them off the line
Fry 'em all up in a pan
We gotta get home while we still got a job
or we'll have to answer to the man
And everybody knows though we gotta go
We'll be back again
(REPEAT CHORUS)
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Old Picture
THERE are times when a dream delicious
Steals into a musing hour,
Like a face with love capricious
That peeps from a woodland bower;
And one dear scene comes changeless;
A wooded hill and a river;
A deep, cool bend, where the lilies end,
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
And I lie on the brink there, dreaming
That the life I live is a dream;
That the real is but the seeming,
And the true is the sun-flecked stream.
Beneath me, the perch and the bream sail past
In the dim cool depths of the river;
The struggling fly breaks the mirrored sky
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
There are voices of children away on the hill;
There are bees thro' the flag-flowers humming;
The lighter-man calls to the lock, and the mill
On the farther side is drumming.
And I sink to sleep in my dream of a dream,
In the grass by the brink of a river,
Where the voices blend and the lilies end
And the elm-tree shadows quiver.
Like a gift from the past is the kindly dream,
For the sorrow and passion and pain
Are adrift like the leaves on the breast of the stream,
And the child-life comes again.
O, the sweet sweet pain of a joy that died—
Of a pain that is joy forever!
O, the life that died in the stormy tide
That was once my sun-flecked river.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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River
(orbison/dees)
Roly-oly on now, river
Roly-oly on your way
Roly-oly on now river
Wash my cares away
River so wide and so deep
Wake the sandman from his sleep
River remind him
He has a promise to keep
Roll on, mighty river
Running wild and free
Get along now, river
Bring a dream to me
Hey now, river
Go down, river
Dont slow down, river
Bring a dream for me
Roly-oly on now, river
Roly-oly on your way
Roly-oly on now river
Take my troubles away
Robin hood river, roll on
Go steal a dream from the dawn
River, youll find me
Where all the dreamers have gone
Roll on, mighty river
Running wild and free
Get along now, river
And bring a dream to me
Hey now, river
Go down, river
Dont slow down, river
Bring that dream for me
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where The River Flows
Music : rudolf schenker
Lyrics: klaus meine
Under suburban skies
Where life is bleeding
Where concrete skies are grey
Theres plenty of room for dreaming
I still keep coming here
Follow those traces
I travel back in time
Remember all those places
Feels like I never left
The houses still standing
Down by the river where
The dreams are never ending
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Under the silent moon
This industrial city
Is heartland even though
Lifes been not that pretty
I still keep coming here
To that old river
To find my roots just where
The future lives forever
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me, you can find me
By the river where dreams will never die
By the river under suburban skies
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
By the river where dreams have never died
By the river I look through childrens eyes
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
You find me
You find me
You find me by the river
You find me
You find me
You find me where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows
Where the river flows
song performed by by Scorpions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Carny Town
(words & music by wise - starr)
Aha-ha hurry, hurry step this way
Aha-ha hurry, hurry step this way
Now the show youre going to see is strictly high class
Therell be ten hoola dancers shaking their grass
So step right up and put your money down
This way to carny town
We got a man so skinny you can see his bones
We play on his ribs like a xylophone
With a pair of spoons we get a rockin song
Youll hear it all, in carny town
Hurry, hurry, hurry, the house is almost full
We got a two headed cow and thats no bull
Theres a man who swallows swords and he never gets hurt
He eats razor blades for dessert
Hes just about the sharpest guy around
Youll see him here, in carny town
Aha-ha hurry, hurry step this way
Aha-ha hurry, hurry step this way
Aha-ha hurry, hurry step this way
Aha-ha hurry, hurry step this way
Aha-ha I say were gonna win
I said hurry up
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How M'Ginnis went missing
Let us cease our idle chatter,
Let the tears bedew our cheek,
For a man from Tallangatta
Has been missing for a week.
Where the roaring flooded Murray
Covered all the lower land,
There he started in a hurry,
With a bottle in his hand.
And his fate is hid for ever,
But the public seem to think
That he slumbered by the river,
'Neath the influence of drink.
And they scarcely seem to wonder
That the river, wide and deep,
Never woke him with its thunder,
Never stirred him in his sleep.
As the crashing logs came sweeping,
And their tumult filled the air,
Then M'Ginnis murmured, sleeping,
`'Tis a wake in ould Kildare.'
So the river rose and found him
Sleeping softly by the stream,
And the cruel waters drowned him
Ere he wakened from his dream.
And the blossom-tufted wattle,
Blooming brightly on the lea,
Saw M'Ginnis and the bottle
Going drifting out to sea.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Lazy River
Up a lazy river by the old mill stream
That lazy, hazy river where we both can dream
Linger in the shade of an old oak tree
Throw away your troubles, dream a dream with me
Up a lazy river where the robins song
Wakes up in the mornin, as we roll along
Blue skies up above ....everyones in love
Up a lazy river, how happy we will be, now
Up a lazy river with me
(instrumental break)
Up a lazy river by the old mill run
That lazy, lazy river in the noon day sun
You can linger in the shade of that fine ole tree
Throw, away your troubles, baby, dream with me
Up a lazy river where the robins song
Wakes a brand new mornin as we roll along
There are blue skies up above...and as long as were in love
Up a lazy river, how happy we could be
If you go up a lazy river with me
Ah said with me now.....goinup that... lazy river..... with me
song performed by by Louis Armstrong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quiet river
Lazy stars shining on a little cabin,
Lazy moon glistening over river trees;
Old river whispering,
Lappin' 'against the long roots:
So quiet, so serene 'do you feel the blues?
Went down to the river, sat down and listened,
Heard the water talking' quiet,
Real quiet and slow:
'Ain' no need fo' hurry, take yo' time, take your time -yo
Heard it saying-'Son, heres the way life should go
poem by Ravi Upadhye
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In The Harbour: To The Avon
Flow on, sweet river! like his verse
Who lies beneath this sculptured hearse;
Nor wait beside the churchyard wall
For him who cannot hear thy call.
Thy playmate once; I see him now
A boy with sunshine on his brow,
And hear in Stratford's quiet street
The patter of his little feet.
I see him by thy shallow edge
Wading knee-deep amid the sedge;
And lost in thought, as if thy stream
Were the swift river of a dream.
He wonders whitherward it flows;
And fain would follow where it goes,
To the wide world, that shall erelong
Be filled with his melodious song.
Flow on, fair stream! That dream is o'er;
He stands upon another shore;
A vaster river near him flows,
And still he follows where it goes.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The River Of Sleep
There are curious isles in the River of Sleep,
Curious isles without number.
We'll visit them all as we leisurely creep
Down the winding stream whose current is deep,
In our beautiful barge of Slumber.
The very first isle in this wonderful stream
Quite close to the shore is lying,
And after a supper of cakes and cream
We come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream,
And hurry away from it crying.
And next is the Island-of-Lullaby,
And every one there rejoices.
The winds are only a perfumed sigh,
And the birds that sing in the treetops try
To imitate Mothers' voices.
A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams;
Oh, that is the place to be straying.
Everything there is just as it seems;
Dolls are real and sunshine gleams,
And no one calls us from playing.
And then we come to the drollest isle,
And the funniest sounds come pouring
Down from its borderlands once in a while,
And we lean o'er our barge and listen and smile;
For that is the Isle-of-Snoring.
And the very last isle in the River of Sleep
Is the sunshiny Isle-of-Waking.
We see it first with our eyes a-peep,
And we give a yawn-then away we leap,
The barge of Slumber forsaking.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!
Hurry up to fall in love!
Be surprised how beautiful it is!
Hurry up to speak of love!
Realize that these words can anyone please.
To give yourself to others –
What happiness it is!
All people are sisters and brothers
Take care of friendship, please!
Don’t hide the feelings of admiration!
It’s a foundation of love creation.
Use your brain but more imagination
If you want to find the right station.
Hurry up to be needed by someone!
Don’t suffer of senseless doubts!
Everyone on the Earth needs love,
No one wants the bailouts.
Hurry up to mourn and even to cry!
Those are forlorn whose eyes are always dry.
With every breath the time runs out,
Every moment of life is a gift beyond any doubt.
Don’t break the harmony of life
For the only sake of a strife.
Have a look at the situation twice or even thrice
You will find for sure a compromise.
Hurry up to love the rain and the snow!
Hurry up to love everything that grow!
Hurry up to love the hot and the cold
Hurry up to love the young and the old.
Hurry up to live in winter and summer!
Find the beauty in autumn and spring!
Appreciate a farmer who works hard
And…present you a pumpkin on Halloween.
Hurry up to listen and hear!
Feel the souls of those who are dear!
Hurry up and be happy today!
Nothing for tomorrow delay!
Summing up I repeat again:
Hurry up! Hurry up! Hurry up!
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 22nd of December,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Where Is The River?
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or somewhere else
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or hidden under the ground
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or safe inside the cave
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or still far away
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or up above the cloud
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or out of our reach
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or trickling on the rock
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or gathering in the pool
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or down over the cliff
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or just sight of illusion
Where is the river?
Is it here
Running in your eyes
Where is the river?
Is it here
Or sudden flood in the road
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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You Know How Is It To Be Blue
you know how is it to be blue
you sailed once on top and you plunged
deep down under
the rage of the river
you know how is it to be inside
a certain darkness and silence
you know how is it be just a river
this will haunt us forever
you know how is it to be inside the cave
filled with water and rage and rampage
of stone and waves
you know how is it to be a river
flowing and going away
you know how is it to be bluer than blue
and foamy and angry
you know how is it to be deep just being deep
and it is enough for me and then you go away.
let me stay on the depths of these mysteries
i like the blueness of blue, the deepening of the deep
i like it here, deep and silent, even without you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On the Bluff
O grandly flowing River!
O silver-gliding River!
Thy springing willows shiver
In the sunset as of old;
They shiver in the silence
Of the willow-whitened islands,
While the sun-bars and the sand-bars
Fill air and wave with gold.
O gay, oblivious River!
O sunset-kindled River!
Do you remember ever
The eyes and skies so blue
On a summer day that shone here,
When we were all alone here,
And the blue eyes were too wise
To speak the love they knew?
O stern impassive River!
O still unanswering River!
The shivering willows quiver
As the night-winds moan and rave.
From the past a voice is calling,
From heaven a star is falling,
And dew swells in the bluebells
Above her hillside grave.
Matamoras Banks
(Each year many die crossing the deserts,
mountains and rivers of our southern border
in search of a better life. Here I follow the
journey backwards, from the body at the
river bottom, to the man walking across
the desert towards the banks of the Rio Grande.)
For two days the river keeps you down
Then you rise to the light without a sound
Past the playgrounds and empty switching yards
The turtles eat the skin from your eyes, so they lay open to the stars
Your clothes give way to the current and river stone
'Till every trace of who you ever were is gone
And the things of the earth they make their claim
That the things of heaven may do the same
Goodbye, my darling, for your love I give God thanks,
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Over rivers of stone and ancient ocean beds
I walk on sandals of twine and tire tread
My pockets full of dust, my mouth filled with cool stone
The pale moon opens the earth to its bones
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
The touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
Your sweet memory comes on the evenin' wind
I sleep and dream of holding you in my arms again
The lights of Brownsville, across the river shine
A shout rings out and into the silty red river I dive
I long, my darling, for your kiss, for your sweet love I give God thanks
A touch of your loving fingertips
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros
Meet me on the Matamoros banks
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reedy River
Ten miles down Reedy River
A pool of water lies,
And all the year it mirrors
The changes in the skies,
And in that pool's broad bosom
Is room for all the stars;
Its bed of sand has drifted
O'er countless rocky bars.
Around the lower edges
There waves a bed of reeds,
Where water rats are hidden
And where the wild duck breeds;
And grassy slopes rise gently
To ridges long and low,
Where groves of wattle flourish
And native bluebells grow.
Beneath the granite ridges
The eye may just discern
Where Rocky Creek emerges
From deep green banks of fern;
And standing tall between them,
The grassy she-oaks cool
The hard, blue-tinted waters
Before they reach the pool.
Ten miles down Reedy River
One Sunday afternoon,
I rode with Mary Campbell
To that broad, bright lagoon;
We left our horses grazing
Till shadows climbed the peak,
And strolled beneath the she-oaks
On the banks of Rocky Creek.
Then home along the river
That night we rode a race,
And the moonlight lent a glory
To Mary Campbell's face;
And I pleaded for our future
All through that moonlight ride,
Until our weary horses
Drew closer side by side.
Ten miles from Ryan's Crossing
And five miles below the peak,
I built a little homestead
On the banks of Rocky Creek;
I cleared the land and fenced it
And ploughed the rich, red loam,
And my first crop was golden
When I brought my Mary home.
Now still down Reedy River
The grassy she-oaks sigh,
And the water-holes still mirror
The pictures in the sky;
And over all for ever
Go sun and moon and stars,
While the golden sand is drifting
Across the rocky bars
But of the hut I builded
There are no traces now.
And many rains have levelled
The furrows of the plough;
And my bright days are olden,
For the twisted branches wave
And the wattle blossoms golden
On the hill by Mary's grave.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ship Trapped In The Ice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The frost on the rigging superficially nice
The captain sold his marbles and the crew lost theirs at dice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
How can we free, how can we free
The ship trapped in the ice
How can we free, how can we free
They sailed in the shallows now theyve paid the price
The captain drank the champagne but it tasted like old spice
How can we free, how can we free
The ship trapped in the ice
And I can only see this wreck with the aid of a drink and a mirror
She may look scenic from the shore but you dont wanna come any nearer
The captains box of butterflies have all hatched out as lice
Hurry and see, hurry and see
The ship trapped in the ice
And I can only see this wreck with the aid of a drink and a mirror
She may look scenic from the shore but you dont wanna come any nearer
How can this be, how can this be
The ship trapped in the ice
How can this be, how can this be
The frozen contract has a grip like a vice
The captain dreams of flying but hes also scared of heights
Oh how can this be, cause boy its me!
The ship trapped in the ice
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the shadows
I am sailing to the leeward,
Where the current runs to seaward
Soft and slow,
Where the sleeping river grasses
Brush my paddle as it passes
To and fro.
On the shore the heat is shaking
All the golden sands awaking
In the cove;
And the quaint sand-piper, winging
O'er the shallows, ceases singing
When I move.
On the water's idle pillow
Sleeps the overhanging willow,
Green and cool;
Where the rushes lift their burnished
Oval heads from out the tarnished
Emerald pool.
Where the very silence slumbers,
Water lilies grow in numbers,
Pure and pale;
All the morning they have rested,
Amber crowned, and pearly crested,
Fair and frail.
Here, impossible romances,
Indefinable sweet fancies,
Cluster round;
But they do not mar the sweetness
Of this still September fleetness
With a sound.
I can scarce discern the meeting
Of the shore and stream retreating,
So remote;
For the laggard river, dozing,
Only wakes from its reposing
Where I float.
Where the river mists are rising,
All the foliage baptizing
With their spray;
There the sun gleams far and faintly,
With a shadow soft and saintly,
In its ray.
And the perfume of some burning
Far-off brushwood, ever turning
To exhale
All its smoky fragrance dying,
In the arms of evening lying,
Where I sail.
My canoe is growing lazy,
In the atmosphere so hazy,
While I dream;
Half in slumber I am guiding,
Eastward indistinctly gliding
Down the stream.
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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Between The Rapids
The point is turned; the twilight shadow fills
The wheeling stream, the soft receding shore,
And on our ears from deep among the hills
Breaks now the rapid's sudden quickening roar.
Ah yet the same, or have they changed their face,
The fair green fields, and can it still be seen,
The white log cottage near the mountain's base,
So bright and quiet, so home-like and serene?
Ah, well I question, for as five years go,
How many blessings fall, and how much woe.
Aye there they are, nor have they changed their cheer,
The fields, the hut, the leafy mountain brows;
Across the lonely dusk again I hear
The loitering bells, the lowing of the cows,
The bleat of many sheep, the stilly rush
Of the low whispering river, and through all,
Soft human tongues that break the deepening hush
With faint-heard song or desultory call:
Oh comrades hold; the longest reach is past;
The stream runs swift, and we are flying fast.
The shore, the fields, the cottage just the same,
But how with them whose memory makes them sweet?
Oh if I called them, hailing name by name,
Would the same lifts the same old shouts repeat?
Have the rough years, so big with death and ill,
Gone lightly by and left them smiling yet?
Wild black-eyed Jeanne whose tongue was never still,
Old wrinkled Picaud, Pierre and pale Lisette,
The homely hearts that never cared to range,
While life's wide fields were filled with rush and change.
And where is Jacques, and where is Verginie?
I cannot tell; the fields are all a blur.
The lowing cows whose shapes I scarcely see,
Oh do they wait and do they call for her?
And is she changed, or is her heart still clear
As wind or morning, light as river foam?
Or have life's changes borne her far from here,
And far from rest, and far from help and home?
Ah comrades, soft, and let us rest awhile,
For arms grow tired with paddling many a mile.
The woods grow wild, and from the rising shore
The cool wind creeps, the faint wood odours steal;
Like ghosts down the rivers blackening floor
The misty fumes begin to creep and reel.
Once more I leave you, wandering toward the night,
Sweet home, sweet heart, that would have held me in;
Whither I go I know not, and the light
Is faint before, and rest is hard to win.
Ah sweet ye were and near to heaven's gate;
But youth is blind and wisdom comes too late.
Blacker and loftier grow the woods, and hark!
The freshening roar! The chute is near us now,
And dim the canyon grows, and inky dark
The water whispering from the birchen prow.
One long last look, and many a sad adieu,
While eyes can see and heart can feel you yet,
I leave sweet home and sweeter hearts to you,
A prayer for Picaud, one for pale Lisette,
A kiss for Pierre, my little Jacques, and thee,
A sigh for Jeanne, a sob for Verginie.
Oh, does she still remember? Is the dream
Now dead, or has she found another mate?
So near, so dear; and ah, so swift the stream;
Even now perhaps it were not yet too late.
But oh, what matter; for before the night
Has reached its middle, we have far to go:
Bend to your paddles, comrades; see, the light
Ebbs off apace; we must not linger so.
Aye thus it is! Heaven gleams and then is gone
Once, twice, it smiles, and still we wander on.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Deliver Me Out
Deliver me out of the river of your love,
And do not allow me to be drawn;
For i am in the deep waters of your love and,
You stood in awe because you were moved by my passion.
Of the emotions of this river,
I am in the deep waters of your love and i need help;
And you have to put joy into my heart to deliver me out!
You are all about this river and i need your deliverance,
So come and save me and take me home;
For the one who needs my love also wants me on this case.
This river has taken me so far,
So come and deliver me out of this deep water of your love!
For i'm about to sink into the mire of deep places.
Fill my lips with rejoicing and come forward to me,
For my heart desires to meet you around;
But listen to the pleadings from my mouth of love,
For i am in the deep waters of your sweet love!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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