En lille Flugt til Rom den 8 Marts 1835
1
Fra Nord, hvor Taagen skygger,
Hvor Vinterkulden trykker,
Bort til Italia!
Vi Tydskland let kan glemme,
Saa smukt har vi det Hjemme,
Og flyve dog derfra!
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
Ned til Italia!
2
De høie Alper vige,
Vi ned paa Sletten stige
Til Sang og Blomster-Duft.
Blandt Myrter Hjorden græsser,
See Pinier og Cypresser! -
Vi aande Sydens Luft!
Hallo, hallo, hallo! hallo!
Den Luft gjør Hjertet fro!
3
Her Skjønheds Døttre bygge!
Vi tænke paa vor Lykke,
Vi dvæle og vi fly.
Bag Bjergene det vinker!
Sankt Peters Kubbel blinker,
Vi er i Pavens By.
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
Nu Passaporti da!
4
Vi ned ad Corso vandre,
Og sikkert vi de Andre
I Caffe greco see!
Man Velkomst drikke skal jo,
Vi raabe mezzo caldo!
Vi kysses og vi lee!
Hallo, halle, hallo, halle!
Vi er i vor Caffé!
5
Os spørger hver en Stemme,
„Hvorledes staaer det hjemme?"
„Det staaer, som før det stod!
Det regner og er sølet,
Man gaaer og er forkjølet,
For Vintren er saa god!"
Hallo, hallo, hallo, hallo!
Ja god, det kan I tro!
6
Om Roma vil vi tale,
See Vaticanets Sale,
Ja dertil staaer vor Hu.
Jeg Colossæum gjæster,
Og Keiserborgens Rester,
Og saa lidt meer endnu!
Hallo, halle, hallo, halle!
Vi atter Roma see!
7
Men vi maae lidt os rappe!
Op ad den spanske Trappe,
Først hen til Chiavica!
De der sig Alle samle,
Der træffe vi den Gamle,
ham bringes et Hurra!
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
Ham bringes et Hurra!
8
Hans Fødselsdag de hædre,
Og ingen Dag er bedre
End den, han først saae Rom!
Vi see hans milde Øie
Vi staae ved Romas Høie,
Til Skaalen just vi kom.
Hallo, halla, hallo, halla!
For Thorvaldsen Hurra!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Related quotes
No Answer
I got up this morning felt so bad
It's weird, really feel out of whack
I got the urge to call home and i
Go to the hook and pick up the phone, sayin' -
Just wanted to say "hi" to all my friends
Calling west-berlin, where all those roads lead to an end
Germany am i getting through ?
Something's up i need to talk to you
Hallo deutschland hrt ihr mich ?
Via satelliten hrt ihr mich ?
Hallo, hallo deutschland hrt ihr mich ?
Ist da jemand oder täusch' ich mich ?
A cup of coffee, cigarette baiting time
And i'm still hanging on that line
Ringing up that girl can't be too soon
Saying hey, hey wakeup darling it's afternoon
Got still no answer no reply
Gotta give it one last try
Operator i count on you (overseas operator, may i help you ?)
You're the one to put me through
Hallo deutschland ...
Let me know
Let me know
Hallo deutschlandhrt ihr mich (rep til fade)
song performed by by Falco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Madman's Song
Better to see your cheek grown hollow,
Better to see your temple worn,
Than to forget to follow, follow,
After the sound of a silver horn.
Better to bind your brow with willow
And follow, follow until you die,
Than to sleep with your head on a golden pillow,
Nor lift it up when the hunt goes by.
Better to see your cheek grow sallow
And your hair grown gray, so soon, so soon,
Than to forget to hallo, hallo,
After the milk-white hounds of the moon.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
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The Hostage
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Lady weve just kidnapped your husband
Have $800,000 ready by tomorrow night
And lady no police
Or youll never see your husband alive again
Lady: hallo
I remember standing there so petrified
My hand frozen to the phone
As a strangers words that caught in my ears
And chilled me to the bone
Some dark tragedy had come right home to me
Theyd kidnapped my man and his life was in their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Lady, heres your husband through
To warn not to play any games
Husband:
Hi honey listen Im okay
Just make sure you do whatever they tell you
And whatever you do dont go to the police!
Well I couldnt raise that kinda money fast
So I was left no other choice
So I called the police and they came in fast
Saying leave it up to us
Just do as they told
The ransoms in this bag
Well watch over you
And well have your husband back too
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Listen very carefully lady
Drive out to the abandoned shack on highway 16
Throw the package of money out the window and keep driving
And remember lady no police!
Well my heart was heavy as I made that drive
I was sure something was wrong
I soon found the shack
I threw out the bag and I just kept driving on
Then the shots rang out and turned my car about
On the ground one lay but the other had gotten away
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady:
Well they found my husband a few days later
Yes, the funerals tomorrow
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rollicking Hans
HALLO there! A glass!
Ha! the draught's truly sweet!
If for drink go my shoes,
I shall still have my feet.
A maiden and wine,
With sweet music and song,--
I would they were mine,
All life's journey along!
If I depart from this sad sphere,
And leave a will behind me here,
A suit at law will be preferr'd,
But as for thanks,--the deuce a word!
So ere I die, I squander all,
And that a proper will I call.
HIS COMRADE.
Hallo there! A glass!
Ha! the draught's truly sweet
If thou keepest thy shoes,
Thou wilt then spare thy feet.
A maiden and wine,
With sweet music and song,
On pavement, are thine,
All life's journey along!
-----
THE FREEBOOTER,
No door has my house,
No house has my door;
And in and out ever
I carry my store.
No grate has my kitchen,
No kitchen my grate;
Yet roasts it and boils it
Both early and late.
My bed has no trestles,
My trestles no bed;
Yet merrier moments
No mortal e'er led.
My cellar is lofty,
My barn is full deep,
From top to the bottom,--
There lie I and sleep.
And soon as I waken,
All moves on its race;
My place has no fixture,
My fixture no place.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Do You Like Worms?
Rock, rock and roll
Plymouth rock, roll over
Rock, rock and roll
Plymouth rock, roll over
Bicycle rider, see see what youve done,
To the church of the american indian ...
Rock, rock and roll
Plymouth rock, roll over
Rock, rock and roll
Plymouth rock, roll over
Wa halla loo lay
Wa halla loo lah
Keeny wok a poo lah
Wa halla loo lay
Wa halla loo lah
Keeny wok a poo lah
Wa halla loo lay
Wa halla loo lah
Keeny wok a poo lah
Wa halla loo lay
Wa halla loo lah
Keeny wok a poo lah
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The sweet kiss
The sweet kiss of our meeting
is a wonderful thing,
that daily brings pleasure to me.
There is something sad to goodbyes
and yet something awesome,
when our lips touch.
The waiting to the next hallo
has some magic to it and builds expectations,
of a coming thing.
When we embrace
there’s something special present
and the sweet kiss of our meeting
is a wonderful thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A sweet reminder that you are there for me
Sitting in the cold, wondering where you are
Gazing at the skies, perhaps you are that star
Shining down at me, winking through the cloud
I stand and wave hallo, and even shout out loud
That star is kinda cute, just staring down at me
I feel a peace within, that star is you I see
Just a sweet reminder, to show that you're around
To guide and comfort me, I'm glad it's you I've found
The cold has gone away, the wind has settled down
Perhaps this was your doing, I know cos it's your frown
You've smothered me with warmth, this cold and chilly night
I thank you friend so much, you've made me feel alright
poem by Bradley Lester
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Posters
Fashion, collection
Scraping the sky
Under sunny white
Sweatless, buoyant
Under sunny dark
Angelic, luminant
He is coated
She is jewelled
Their legs booted
Gourmet in dhabbas
Hallo over mobiles
Connecting villages
Bulls and bears on market
Bold and gold on Akshaya tritiya
Cosmetised cosmos
Cosmic breeze yogic
Celebrities refresh juicy
Set smile never to mute
Drawn mascara never to winkle
Levelled up sale-show
Invitations on installments
Temporal devas feet up in air
Trespassing the road down
Bid them bye; but they don't
poem by Indira Renganathan
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My Hunting Song
Forward! Hark forward's the cry!
One more fence and we're out on the open,
So to us at once, if you want to live near us!
Hark to them, ride to them, beauties! as on they go,
Leaping and sweeping away in the vale below!
Cowards and bunglers, whose heart or whose eye is slow,
Find themselves staring alone.
So the great cause flashes by;
Nearer and clearer its purposes open,
While louder and prouder the world-echoes cheer us:
Gentlemen sportsmen, you ought to live up to us,
Lead us, and lift us, and hallo our game to us-
We cannot call the hounds off, and no shame to us-
Don't be left staring alone!
Eversley, 1849.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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Windows
TIME-STONE
Hallo, Metropolitan—
Ubiquitous windows staring all ways,
Red eye notching the darkness.
No use to ogle that slip of a moon.
This midnight the moon,
Playing virgin after all her encounters,
Will break another date with you.
You fuss an awful lot,
You flight of ledger books,
Overrun with multiple ant-black figures
Dancing on spindle legs
An interminable can-can.
But I'd rather… like the cats in the alley… count time
By the silver whistle of a moonbeam
Falling between my stoop-shouldered walls,
Than all your tally of the sunsets,
Metropolitan, ticking among stars.
poem by Lola Ridge
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Hold On To My Love
Writers: leo sayer, barry mann & cynthia weil
Hallo western union
Wont you listen to me man?
Had no time to say good bye
So take th is telegram
While Im gone
She got to hold on to my love
While Im gone
She got to hold on to my love
Breaks my heart to leave her
But Im working with this band
Ive got one chance to make it now
Please make her understand
That while Im gone
She got to hold on to my love
While Im gone
She got to hold on to my love
Dont give it away
Oh yeah, uh huh
So come on operator
And get my message through
She dont need to write me evry day
All shes gotta do is hold on
Hold on to my love
While Im gone
She got to hold on to my love
Dont let it slip away
Hold on
Hold on to my love
Hold on
Hold on to my love
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry Magazines
Poetry magazines are a lot of poo
They send your poems back to you
With little notes and friendly words
As a poet you`re a wordless nerd
They`d probably send Bill Shakespeare back
And call John Keats a lot of crap
And as for our dear Ezra Pound
I`m sorry sir- you`re so unsound
Your iambs are no good at all
Your prosody a lot of balls
The theme this month is vegetables
From turnips we read nothing at all...
So here`s a tip to all you poets
Forget this literary posh don`t-know-its
Let the people judge what`s good or bad
Here`s to a democratic, international, anti-capital
publisher and magazine free Internet - FREE POETRY
(O.K., the last line doesn`t rhyme, but hallo
Chicago and London, I`m no good, am I?)
poem by Leslie Philibert
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The Hare And The Fox
The fox lay still by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with nimble foot
O'er the heather.
Was ever brighter a sunshine-day,
Before, behind me, and every way,
O'er the heather!
The fox laughed low by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare was running with daring foot
O'er the heather.
I am so happy for everything!
Hallo! Why go you with mighty spring
O'er the heather?
The fox lay hid by the birch-tree's root
In the heather.
The hare dashed to him with reckless foot
O'er the heather.
May God have mercy, but this is queer! --
Good gracious, how dare you dance so here
O'er the heather?
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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The Skirt
Hallo Germaine that's a fine skirt you have
A fine skirt for a queen A cruel queen
Let's feel the silk of it Silk from Japan
And trimmed with wide lace made on no machine
Your skirt's a silken bell whose double clapper
Your legs have struck the passing of my fancies
O Germaine now I ring it my breast heaving
My hands press down upon your willing haunches
Your bedroom O my bell is a fine belfry
My hands touch silk and seem to tear my ears
Those pegs are gallows on which skirts are hanging
Those hanging men are dazzling my eyes
Motionless as an owl the oil lamp watches
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Christmas Gift
Christmas Gift Spurned
Crowed Christmas, street when I saw her I was sure it was her,
the way she walked. Thought I could sense her perfume too.
I hurried after her, touched her shoulder, said hallo, the woman
turned around, alas, I had been wrong. Said sorry, thought you
were someone else. She smiled and said, no I’m only me.
I read an invitation in her dark brown eyes, but I was hopelessly
in love with the true woman of my dreams and the lovely woman
in front of me, was not like the mythical one. I said sorry again,
flapped my wings and flew into the night sky to seek her amongst
the stars. In the cooling outer space I realized the fabled woman
of my dreams was an angel and I was only an earthling. I dived
back to earth like a Stuka dive bomber, skidded on slush. I looked
and looked, in vain, for the woman with the brown eyes, but my
Christmas gift had gone.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Vandrerens Sang
Hvor Stormen løfter høit sin stærke Stemme,
Hvor Bølgen svulmer paa det stolte Hav,
Jeg tænker kun paa Dig. — Dig Gud mig gav!
— Jeg kan Dig aldrig glemme!
Paa Sletten, hvor den vilde Hingst har hjemme,
Paa Fjeldets Tind, høit i den kolde Sky,
Jeg seer kun Dig, — selv i hver fremmed By -
— Jeg kan Dig aldrig glemme!
Og bort, ja bort — det snevert er her hjemme -
Did hen, hvor Granerne paa Bjerget groe!
Langt bort, langt bort! — Faaer Hjertet da vel Ro?
— Jeg kan Dig aldrig glemme!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Studier efter Naturen
Vort Landskab her er næsten fladt;
Men Maanen skinner jo i Nat!
Dog, hvad vi ved dens Lys har seet,
Er kun, at Alt gaaer ud i Eet.
Forgrunden maae vi blive ved;
Der er lidt høit paa dette Sted;
Veirmøllen, som vi skal forbi,
Gjør, at vi faae et Malerie.
Saa lystigt alle Hjul nu gaae;
Et Lys man seer bag Lugen staae,
Og Svenden bærer Sækken bort;
Hans Kammerater spille Kort;
Ølkanden midt paa Bordet staaer.
See, Møllevingen, hvor den gaaer!
Men mellem Skyer Maanen leer,
Og fornemt paa det Hele seer.
Nu kommer der en Byge-Regn,
Den skygger os den halve Egn,
Og hver en Hest og hver en Ko
Forstyrres i sin søde Ro;
Og da paa Marken ei er Læ,
De staae, som var de gjort af Træ.
Dog, Maanens Lys er ikke slukt,
Thi see, en Regnbue hvælver smukt.
Regnbuen over Møllen staaer,
Det er, som Vingen mod den slaaer,
Og under Mølle-Husets Tag,
Der sover til den lyse Dag
Vor Møllers lille syvaars Dreng;
Høit under Bjelken er hans Seng;
Han ene sover der, som sagt,
Thi Moder er i Jorden lagt.
Han hører Hjulene at gaae,
Og deres Støi kan han forstaae;
Han titter gjennem Rudens Glar,
Og seer det store Vinge-Par.
Høit vil de stige mod det Blaae,
Men kan kun i en Cirkel gaae;
De flyve Dag og Nat og Aar -
Men Møllen dog paa Bakken staaer.
III
Hvad jeg skued' med mit Øie,
Tegned' jeg med Blæk og Pen.
Christian Winther
Den gothisk-gamle Kirke er sjunken for vort Blik,
Og Mand er Barnet vorden, der ved Ruinen gik.
Der er saa tomt og øde, hver Steen er revet hen,
Men i Graabrødrelille gaaer Taarnet her igjen.
Ungdommeligt det hæver sin Tinde høit mod Sky,
Og seer paa Markeds-Vrimlen i Odins gamle By.
Et Selskab staaer deroppe, de see sig rundt omkring;
De finde, Jord og Himmel har mange smukke Ting.
Det fyenske Land de prise, og det af Hjertens Lyst,
Det maa jo ret begeistre hver ærlig Fyenboes Bryst.
— Ja Fyen er ret et herligt Land!
Det kan dog ingen nægte.
Der vexler Skov og Mark og Strand,
Og Hjertet her er ægte!
Selv Navnet Fyen, betyder fiin,
Og vil saa meget sige,
At Fyen, det er en Hauge fiin,
For hele Danmarks Rige!
Den glade Kreds beskuer nu Egnens Herlighed,
Dog een, hvad end de skue, seer kun sin Kjærlighed;
Hans Blik mod Syden søger, mod Østersøens Strand,
Der bygger hun, som ene gjør Fyen til Hjertets Land;
Men Lyngets sorte Banker staae om det kjære Sted,
Hvor ingen Blomster voxe for deres Kjærlighed.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Tu Sabes Quererme
Amanezco junto a ti como siempre
Te acaricio al despertar
No me sientes
Me enseaste a querer, me hiciste quien soy
Aunque te quise ayer, ms te quiero hoy
Me conoces ms que a ti, me comprendes
Tan siquiera sin hablar tu me entiendes
Mis sueos de ayer ya son realidad,
Y s que sin tu amor no hay felicidad
T sabes quererme, no hay nadie mejor
Y slo t has librado mi pasin
T sabes quererme, no hay nadie mejor
Mi mundo gira slo por tu amor
Aunque trate de expresar sentimientos
No hallo forma de explicar lo que siento
Yo s que tanto amor no se puede mostrar
Pero lo intentar una eternidad
T sabes quererme, no hay nadie mejor
Y slo t has librado mi pasin
T sabes quererme, no hay nadie mejor
Mi mundo gira slo por tu amor
T sabes quererme, no hay nadie mejor
Y slo t has librado mi pasin
T sabes quererme, no hay nadie mejor
Mi mundo gira slo por tu amor
T sabes quererme
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whose Wife
‘HARRY! what, that yourself, back to old Vic., man,
Down from the Never Land? Now, what’s your game?
Ugly as ever. Not dropped the old trick, man?
Say, what’ll you take with me? Give it a name.
‘Here long? Well, rather, lad; five years and over,
Settled for good, and supporting a wife.
Slipped from the saddle, and living in clover,
Swore off a heap, and I’ve slung the old life.
‘What’s come of Taffy, and Brum, and the rest of them?
Long since you broke with the Poverty push?’
‘Bill, you’re on top, you’ve the best of the best of them.
Poor Brum’s a dummy, Taff died in the bush;
‘Bob’s cook for Chows on an absentee’s station,
Sam’s tout for spielers, Pete’s lumbered for life;
I’m on a tramp through the whole of creation,
Tracking a woman, my runaway wife.
Left me six years ago—sloped! I was shearing
Up on the Thomson. She left not a word;
Last year was seen by a Barcoo man, steering
Round about here, and that’s all that I’ve heard.
Heard of her, know her, Bill?—tallish and clever,
Blue eyes, dark hair, and she’s branded here, so;
Not one to liquor, or go on the never,
But skittish and queer in her tantrums, you know.
This is her picture, Bill; just have a look at her.
Like any female you chance to have seen?
Hallo! here, hold up! Say, man, what’s the matter?
Your Wife! By the Lord, Morton, what do you mean?’
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Herregaards-Skytterne
Som Tegn om gamle Tider hjemme,
Om Ridderborg og Ridder-Mod,
Vor Bøsse løfte skal sin Stemme;
For gamle Danmark Ungdoms Blod!
Mand staaer ved Mand,
„Med Gud, for Konge og Fædreland!"
Nu kommer Herregaards-Skytten!
Det er den sorte Jæger-Skare
Med dansk Cocarde og Hanefjer;
Blandt Fjendens Flokke skal vi klare,
Vort Øie Hjertestedet seer.
Mand staaer ved Mand,
„Med Gud, for Konge og Fædreland!"
Nu kommer Herregaards-Skytten!
Tro ikke, Landet er ei lukket,
I Folket Holger Danske staaer!
Hver fjendtlig Fugl skal blive plukket,
Hvis Vinge over Gjærdet slaaer!
Mand staaer ved Mand.
„Med Gud, for Konge og Fædreland!"
Nu kommer Herregaards-Skytten!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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