Why Moan, Why Wail You, Wind Of Night
Why moan, why wail you, wind of night,
With such despair, such frenzied madness?
Why is your voice now full of might,
Now piteous and tinged with sadness?
In tongue known to the heart, of pain
Unknown to it for ever chanting,
At times within it well-nigh frantic
Sounds you awaken and insane.
Sing not, O wind, your fearful song
Of chaos, for the hungry spirit,
Into night's world of shadows flung,
Exults in it and strains to hear it.
The bounds of mortal flesh 'twould fly
And merge with boundless ocean sweeping.
Take heed! Let slumbering tempests lie:
Beneath them chaos stirs unsleeping.
poem by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
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Night and Wind
The night is light and chill,
Stars are awake in the sky,
There's a cloud over the moon;
Round the house on the hill
The wind creeps with its cry
Between a wail and a croon.
I hear the voice of the wind,
The voice of the wind in the night,
Cry and sob and weep,
As the voice of one that hath sinned
Moaning aloud in its might
In the night when he cannot sleep.
Sleep? No sleep is about.
What remembering sin
Wakes and watches apart?...
The wind wails without,
And my heart is wailing within,
And the wind is the voice of my heart.
poem by Arthur Symons
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A Voice On The Wind
I
She walks with the wind on the windy height
When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
And all night long she calls through the night,
'O my children, come home!'
Her bleak gown, torn as a tattered cloud,
Tosses around her like a shroud,
While over the deep her voice rings loud,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
II
Who is she who wanders alone,
When the wind drives sheer and the rain is blown?
Who walks all night and makes her moan,
'O my children, come home!'
Whose face is raised to the blinding gale;
Whose hair blows black and whose eyes are pale,
While over the world goes by her wail,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
III
She walks with the wind in the windy wood;
The dark rain drips from her hair and hood,
And her cry sobs by, like a ghost pursued,
'O my children, come home!'
Where the trees loom gaunt and the rocks stretch drear,
The owl and the fox crouch back with fear,
As wild through the wood her voice they hear,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
IV
Who is she who shudders by
When the boughs blow bare and the dead leaves fly?
Who walks all night with her wailing cry,
'O my children, come home!'
Who, strange of look, and wild of tongue,
With wan feet wounded and hands wild-wrung,
Sweeps on and on with her cry, far-flung,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
V
'Tis the Spirit of Autumn, no man sees,
The mother of Death and of Mysteries,
Who cries on the wind all night to these,
'O my children, come home!'
The Spirit of Autumn, pierced with pain,
Calling her children home again,
Death and Dreams, through ruin and rain,-
'O my children, come home, come home!
O my children, come home!'
poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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The Song of Arda: (From “Annatanam”.)
LOW as a lute, my love, beneath the call
Of storm, I hear a melancholy wind;
The memorably mournful wind of yore
Which is the very brother of the one
That wanders, like a hermit, by the mound
Of Death, in lone Annatanam. A song
Was shaped for this, what time we heard outside
The gentle falling of the faded leaf
In quiet noons: a song whose theme doth turn
On gaps of Ruin and the gay-green clifts
Beneath the summits haunted by the moon.
Yea, much it travels to the dens of dole;
And in the midst of this strange rhyme, my lords,
Our Desolation like a phantom sits
With wasted cheeks and eyes that cannot weep
And fastened lips crampt up in marvellous pain.
A song in whose voice is the voice of the foam
And the rhyme of the wintering wave,
And the tongue of the things that eternally roam
In forest, in fell or in cave;
But mostly ’tis like to the Wind without home
In the glen of a desolate grave—
Of a deep and desolate grave.
The torrent flies over the thunder-struck clift
With many and many a call;
The leaves are swept down, and a dolorous drift
Is hurried away with the fall.
But mostly ’tis like the Wind without home
In the glen of a desolate grave—
Of a deep and desolate grave.
Whoever goes thither by night or by day
Must mutter, O Father, to Thee,
For the shadows that startle, the sounds that waylay
Are heavy to hear and to see;
And a step and a moan and a whisper for aye
Have made it a sorrow to be—
A sorrow of sorrows to be.
Oh! cover your faces and shudder, and turn
And hide in the dark of your hair,
Nor look to the Glen in the Mountains, to learn
Of the mystery mouldering there;
But rather sit low in the ashes and urn
Dead hopes in your mighty despair—
In the depths of your mighty despair.
poem by Henry Kendall
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Sea Of Madness
Out in the street somebodys crying
Out in the night the fires burn
Maybe tonight somebodys crying
Reached the point of no return
Oh - my eyes they see but I cant believe
Oh - my heart is heavy as I turn my back and leave
Like the eagle and the dove
Fly so high on wings above
When all you see can only bring you sadness
Like a river we will flow
On towards the sea we go
When all you do can only bring you sadness
Out on the sea of madness
Somewhere I hear a voice thats calling
Out in the dark there burns a dream
You got to hope when you are falling
To find the world that you have seen
Oh -
Oh -
Its madness
The sun dont shine
On the sea of madness
There aint no wind to fill your sails
Madness when all you see can only bring you sadness
On towards the sea we go...
song performed by by Iron Maiden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Almost A Love Song (Casi Un Bolero)
The bells are ringing in my mind
Sadly they ring for me
Throughout this empty house
They remind me so much, so much of you
This horrible loneliness
Comes with me, and with me it goes
With your picture against my skin
A dream in my heart
It's almost a love song
And I wish you were with me right now and always
And I wish I could see you next to meagain and much more
This sadness I sing to you
Is blown away in the wind (I sing this sad song
that blows away in the wind?)
Now that I'm looking for you I regret
I don't know why I stopped walking with you
I never told you that I love you
You couldn't guess it
With your memory always
Like a phantom that doesn't go away
I press your picture against my skin
A dream in my heart
Almost a love song
And I wish you were with me right now and always
And I wish I could see you next to meagain and much more
This sadness I sing to you
Is blown away in the wind (I sing this sad song
that blows away in the wind?)
A dream in my heart
Almost a love song
They remind me so much of you
And I wish,And I wish,And I wish
You were with me right now Almost a love song
And I weish, and I wish
Almost a love song
And much more
This sadness I sing to you
Is blown away in the wind (I sing this sad song
that blows away in the wind?)
song performed by by Ricky Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wake Me A Song
Out of the silences wake me a song,
Beautiful, sad, and soft, and low;
Let the loveliest music sound along,
And wing each note with a wail of woe:
Dim and drear
As hope's last tear;
Out of the silences wake me a hymn,
Whose sounds are like shadows soft and dim.
Out of the stillness in your heart --
A thousand songs are sleeping there --
Wake me a song, thou child of art!
The song of a hope in a last despair:
Dark and low,
A chant of woe;
Out of the stillness, tone by tone,
Cold as a snowflake, low as a moan.
Out of the darkness flash me a song,
Brightly dark and darkly bright;
Let it sweep as a lone star sweeps along
The mystical shadows of the night:
Sing it sweet;
Where nothing is drear, or dark, or dim,
And earth-song soars into heavenly hymn.
poem by Abram Joseph Ryan
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Fairy Sketch
SCENE--NETLEY ABBEY.
There was a morrice on the moonlight plain,
And music echoed in the woody glade,
For fay-like forms, as of Titania's train,
Upon a summer eve, beneath the shade
Of Netley's ivied ruins, to the sound
Of sprightly minstrelsy did beat the ground:--
Come, take hands! and lightly move,
While our boat, in yonder cove,
Rests upon the darkening sea;
Come, take hands, and follow me!
Netley! thy dim and desolated fane
Hath heard, perhaps, the spirits of the night
Shrieking, at times, amid the wind and rain;
Or haply, when the full-orbed moon shone bright,
Thy glimmering aisles have echoed to the song
Of fairy Mab, who led her shadowy masque along.
Now, as to the sprightly sound
Of moonlight minstrelsy we beat the ground;
From the pale nooks, in accent clear,
Now, methinks, her voice I hear,
Sounding o'er the darksome sea;
Come, take hands, and follow me!
Here, beneath the solemn wood,
When faintly-blue is all the sky,
And the moon is still on high,
To the murmurs of the flood,
To the glimpses of the night,
We perform our airy rite;--
Care and pain to us unknown,
To the darkening seas are flown.
Hear no more life's fretful noise,
Heed not here pale Envy's sting,
Far from life's distempered joys;
To the waters murmuring,
To the shadows of the sky,
To the moon that rides on high,
To the glimpses of the night,
We perform our airy rite,
While care and pain, to us unknown,
To the darkening seas are flown.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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I'm Happy To Be Here Tonight
the world is in my chaos dream
but I am not invited
cos you don't know what people saywant to say
your an abstract unknown boy
you and me talk freely at night
and this is my chaos
you've got a right to stay inside
I supply
you are the last one to know
cos I don't know
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Alone
And the night may seem fearful
In the darkened rooms which surround
The noises which play to the mind
Play to much upon each thought
That there is no fear to be found
That a noise is but the wind
Let these words touch your heart
In the way you have touched mine
Whenever the night may call
Whatever thought stirs you awake
There is one in spirit with you
There are few but a call away
So sleepless you are to the night
Where thoughts may appear fearful
But trust in a single promise
An oath I shall make to you
You are loved, you are not alone
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Awaken Little Dreamer
With my eyes closed I see sadness. Sadness I held in for so long. Sadness that is beginning to be replaced with madness. Madness that's been eating at my core, my thought process, my mind for so long.
Eyes open, I see a reality I've been trying to to change, to better it. A lie, I've been living a lie. My life is a lie, one I've been living for so long.
A single tear escapes my eye as I am awaking from my made up reality, my created world. Reality, my reality is tragic not magic. Tears I held back now pour from my eyes, tears I held back for so long.
With my eyes closed I see sadness. I see pain masked by madness. I see sadness hidden by a web of lies and as I open my eyes I hear a voice say, 'Awaken from your dream, come and face reality. Awaken little dreamer. Awaken.'
poem by Suzaku Vaneko
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Night Song
Listen
The city is singin' its night song
A city of shadows and fading starlight
Mixed with bar light
Listen
The empty streets echo the right song
A melody I used to think was only for the
Lonely
Night song
I hear you
Now as the night disappears
But this time
Your blues
Is music to my ears
The rumble of the train
The rustle of the wind
The rhythm of the footsteps
The blarin' of a horn
The murmur of a voice
The echo of a siren
Night song!
You used to find me cryin' in my beer
Now you remind me tomorrow she'll be here
She'll be here!
Oh, night song
You sing of a train from New Orleans
And deep in the music I hear her hummin'
Now she's coming home!
The city is singin' its night song
Listen
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind Child
The Wind has a voice,
A sad, sweet voice
I've heard it sing
Long and beautiful
Like Wind should be,
Carrying forever
The singing Wind is rarely heard
It's quiet and soft and
Unnoticeable
I am a Wind Child
I hear the Wind as
She sings her sad, sweet song
I am a Wind Child
And I sing with the Wind
Wind Children are rare as
True Hope
Special as Love
Wind Child
Is me
poem by Sahar Alive
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What Is the Wind For?
What is the wind for?
If it's not for songs in trees;
What is the wind for?
I feel a song inside of me.
Every day the wind blows,
I think of thoughts from my heart.
Wind melodies come and they go,
Without me knowing where they start.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs like these.
What is the wind for?
If not for songs in trees.
I have been going through life,
Both with comfort and pain.
I have been going through life,
Both with effect and in vain.
But still I hear wind songs,
As they steadily grow;
With melodies chanting,
That no one really knows.
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The night wind
Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"?
'T is a pitiful sound to hear!
It seems to chill you through and through
With a strange and speechless fear.
'T is the voice of the night that broods outside
When folk should be asleep,
And many and many's the time I've cried
To the darkness brooding far and wide
Over the land and the deep:
Whom do you want, O lonely night,
That you wail the long hours through?"
And the night would say in its ghostly way:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
My mother told me long ago
(When I was a little tad)
That when the night went wailing so,
Somebody had been bad;
And then, when I was snug in bed,
Whither I had been sent,
With the blankets pulled up round my head,
I'd think of what my mother'd said,
And wonder what boy she meant!
And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask
Of the wind that hoarsely blew,
And the voice would say in its meaningful way:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
That this was true I must allow -
You'll not believe it, though!
Yes, though I'm quite a model now,
I was not always so.
And if you doubt what things I say,
Suppose you make the test;
Suppose, when you've been bad some day
And up to bed are sent away
From mother and the rest -
Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?"
And then you'll hear what's true;
For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Catching The Night
It’s a low lingering moan persisting through the night outside these walls
An ode to the memory of bones – the mortal lease on life – tuned to the limitless time.
It moves its chorus through the air just now, chilling and thrilling, shaking the moon drenched limb,
Swaying the grass with graceful hum and then falling with the quiet of the dark.
It’s the song of a lonely shadow in the trees churning just in sight
Sweeping and crooning just inside the dim light
Calling for eyes that can see its ballad sifting down through the leaves
And it’s heard and it’s seen as it drones its willow branch dream.
There it has been, lofty and endless as the wind,
Its eerie eyes cast down, barely catching the dim light
Its sounds speaking its loss without end,
That low lingering moan traversing through the night
Telling the story of time, the lost friend,
And giving heart to the memory of life
The Island
Does the wind sing in your ears at night, in the town,
Rattling the windows and doors of the cheap-built place?
Do you hear its song as it flies over marsh and down?
Do you feel the kiss that the wind leaves here on my face?
Or, wrapt in a lamplit quiet, do you restrain
Thoughts that would take the wind's way hither to me,
And bid them rest safe-anchored, nor tempt again
The tumult, and torment, and passion that live in the sea?
I, for my part, when the wind sings loud in its might,
I bid it hush---nor awaken again the storm
That swept my heart out to sea on a moonless night,
And dashed it ashore on an island wondrous and warm
Where all things fair and forbidden for ever flower,
Where the worst of life is a dream, and the best comes true,
Where the harvest of years was reaped in a single hour
And the gods, for once, were honest with me and you.
I will not hear when the wind and the sea cry out,
I will not trust again to the hurrying wind,
I will not swim again in a sea of doubt,
And reach that shore with the world left well behind;
But you,---I would have you listen to every call
Of the changing wind, as it blows over marsh and main,
And heap life's joys in your hands, and offer them all,
If only your feet might touch that island again!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Mad Man
there is this mad man on
the street carrying a lighted lamp
at midday
he screams that this world
is about to end
and people do not listen
he sometimes laughs at the top of his voice
when all of them are all gone
in the middle of the night
he sings the song of chaos
he gives the warning
but then the world is asleep and
numb,
the following morning you ask me about the mad man
how come that he screams, and lights a lamp during the day,
singing the songs of chaos
foretelling the doom of the world
i have no answer of course
but there is one thing i am sure of
it is about us not having understood him
a bit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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As Destiny Unfolds
There is always a choice to make
When two paths merge and life takes a break
For a split second, all things are one
As destiny and chaos collide once more
When two paths merge and life takes a break
No one will warn you that it is already to late
To change the path you have taken
As destiny and chaos collide once more
For a split second, all things are one
In that moment, you realize God will not be outdone
This place and time will no longer exist
As destiny and chaos collide once more
No one will warn you it is already too late
The first man and woman sealed your fate
Nothing can stop what was meant to be
As destiny and chaos collide once more
To change the path you have taken
The original spirit must reawaken
To be forsaken was never part of the master plan
As destiny and chaos collide once more
In that moment, you realize God will not be outdone
By now you realize that life is not a dry run
No second chances are guaranteed
As destiny and chaos collide once more
This place and time will no longer exist
And mankind is summarily dismissed
For failing to exercise discipline and reproof
As destiny and chaos collide once more
The first man and woman sealed your fate
The choice is no longer yours to make
What you do now is fruit of the poisonous tree
As destiny and chaos collide once more
Nothing can stop what was meant to be
Two paths have merged into life’s potpourri
The world is filled with to much hate
As destiny and chaos collide once more
The original spirit must reawaken
Or those waiting for the rapture will not be taken
It will all be for not in the end
As destiny and chaos collide once more
To be forsaken was never part of the master plan
The time has come to take a stand
What you do now repeats the past of long ago
As destiny and chaos collide once more
By now you realize that life is not a dry run
What has been will always return
As it was in ancient times, so it will be
As destiny and chaos collide once more
No second chances are guaranteed
No end in sight, no need to proceed
Since all you know will be forgotten
As destiny and chaos collide once more
And mankind is summarily dismissed
Because he labors for vanity
His soul adrift in a sea of confusion
As destiny and chaos collide once more
poem by Nettie Pennington
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Paradise Of Chaos
We march like fools in a parade of chaos.
We march like fools in a parade of chaos.
Led by our enemies.
While we sing their praises.
Led by our enemies.
While we kiss their hands.
The morning rained fire.
Let the heavens retire.
Over the eyes of the blind.
And the vioces of spoiled children.
True leadersare gone.
We turned our back too many times.
And bit the hand of the provider.
Chaos kills us.
Chaos.
song performed by by Zao from Parade Of Chaos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A March Day in London
The east wind blows in the street to-day;
The sky is blue, yet the town looks grey.
'Tis the wind of ice, the wind of fire,
Of cold despair and of hot desire,
Which chills the flesh to aches and pains,
And sends a fever through all the veins.
From end to end, with aimless feet,
All day long have I paced the street.
My limbs are weary, but in my breast
Stirs the goad of a mad unrest.
I would give anything to stay
The little wheel that turns in my brain;
The little wheel that turns all day,
That turns all night with might and main.
What is the thing I fear, and why?
Nay, but the world is all awry--
The wind's in the east, the sun's in the sky.
The gas-lamps gleam in a golden line;
The ruby lights of the hansoms shine,
Glance, and flicker like fire-flies bright;
The wind has fallen with the night,
And once again the town seems fair
Thwart the mist that hangs i' the air.
And o'er, at last, my spirit steals
A weary peace ; peace that conceals
Within its inner depths the grain
Of hopes that yet shall flower again.