A Day Of Sunshine. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Second)
O gift of God! O perfect day:
Whereon shall no man work, but play;
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!
Through every fibre of my brain,
Through every nerve, through every vein,
I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much.
I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.
And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where though a sapphire sea the sun
Sails like a golden galleon,
Towards yonder cloud-land in the West,
Towards yonder Islands of the Blest,
Whose steep sierra far uplifts
Its craggy summits white with drifts.
Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms
The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms!
Blow, winds! and bend within my reach
The fiery blossoms of the peach!
O Life and Love! O happy throng
Of thoughts, whose only speech is song!
O heart of man! canst thou not be
Blithe as the air is, and as free?
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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1
Would that the winds might only blow
As they blew in the golden long ago--!
Laden with odors of Orient isles
Where ever and ever the sunshine smiles,
And the bright sands blend with the shady trees,
And the lotus blooms in the midst of these.
2
Warm winds won from the midland vales
To where the tress of the Siren trails
O'er the flossy tip of the mountain phlox
And the bare limbs twined in the crested rocks,
High above as the seagulls flap
Their lopping wings at the thunder-clap.
3
Ah! That the winds might rise and blow
The great surge up from the port below,
Bloating the sad, lank, silken sails
Of the Argo out with the swift, sweet gales
That blew from Colchis when Jason had
His love's full will and his heart was glad--
When Medea's voice was soft and low.
Ah! That the winds might rise and blow!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Lonely Wind
When I'm needin' a friend I can talk to the wind
God I sure am glad that I found him
Sometimes he seems to be the only one beside me
Who can feel the Lord's breath all around him
Winter's cold frozen ice or a bright autumn day
On a warm summer night you can hear him say
Cry for me, sigh for me, sad breezes flow
Stay for me, play for me, the song my friends will know
My lonely wind must blow
Mighty friend that is mine, can you give me a sign?
He'll leave nothing but only to hear him
I've seen the tall trees bend low when his mighty winds blow
And that's all the more reason I fear him
Hear him call for the earth lonely I can feel his great pain
But on the eve of this day
I'll join in his refrain
When I'm needing a friend I'll remember the wind
And my life here with the breezes of sorrow
I'll be leaving him soon 'cause I've got to make room
For the lonely that will find him tomorrow
On a black stormy night in your bosom I'll cling
And I'll know I've found love and the last song we'll sing
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bird And The Ship. (From The German Of Müller)
'The rivers rush into the sea,
By castle and town they go;
The winds behind them merrily
Their noisy trumpets blow.
'The clouds are passing far and high,
We little birds in them play;
And everything, that can sing and fly,
Goes with us, and far away.
'I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither, or whence,
With thy fluttering golden band?'--
'I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea
I haste from the narrow land.
'Full and swollen is every sail;
I see no longer a hill,
I have trusted all to the sounding gale,
And it will not let me stand still.
'And wilt thou, little bird, go with us?
Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall,
For full to sinking is my house
With merry companions all.'--
'I need not and seek not company,
Bonny boat, I can sing all alone;
For the mainmast tall too heavy am I,
Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.
'High over the sails, high over the mast,
Who shall gainsay these joys?
When thy merry companions are still, at last,
Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice.
'Who neither may rest, nor listen may,
God bless them every one!
I dart away, in the bright blue day,
And the golden fields of the sun.
'Thus do I sing my merry song,
Wherever the four winds blow;
And this same song, my whole life long,
Neither Poet nor Printer may know.'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Field Of Life
Lost in my own eden,
all ground flat and even,
no hint of winter’s season.
Only the warmth of the sun,
and blossoms of cherry and plum,
not even a cloud on the horizon.
Here flowers and towering trees grow,
and here a bubbling stream does flow,
no sign of a flake or two of snow.
Here the sky is blue and bright,
not a single dark cloud in sight,
just a land of summer’s delight.
Lost in my own paradise,
an unfettered field of life,
with no unwanted sacrifice.
Only a place of true tranquillity,
where the winds of time blow free,
no matter what your status or ability.
poem by Dale Mullock
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Tired
O For wings! that I might soar
A little way above the floor,
A little way beyond the roar—
A little nearer to the sky!
To the blue hills, lifted high
Out of all our misery.
Where alone is heard the lark,
Warbling in the infinite arc
From the dawning to the dark;
Where the callow eaglets wink
On the bare and breezy brink,
And slow pinions rise and sink.
Where the dim white breakers beat
Under cloud-drifts at our feet,
Singing, singing, low and sweet;
Where we see the glimmering bay
Greyly melting far away,
On the confines of the day;
Where the green larch-fringes sweep
Rocky defiles, still and steep;
Where the tender lichens creep;
Where the gentian-blossoms blow,
Set in crystal stars of snow;
Where the downward torrents flow
To the plains and yellow leas,
Glancing, twinkling through the trees—
Pure, as from celestial seas.
Where the face of heaven has smiled
Aye on freedom, sweet and wild,
Aye on beauty undefiled.
Where no sound of human speech,
And no human passions, reach;
Where the angels sit and teach.
Where no troublous foot has trod;
Where is impressed on the sod
Only hand and heart of God!
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Santa Ana Winds
Here in sothern california there is a weather condition known as the
Santa ana winds.
Fire wind oh desert wind
She was born in a desert breeze
And wind her way
Through canyon way
From the desert to the silvery sea
In every direction
See the perfection
And see the san gabriel mountain scene
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Fill my sails
Oh desert wind
And hold the waves high for me
Then I will come
And test my skill
Where the santa ana winds blow free
In waves of elation
My part of creation
Becoming one with the boundless sea
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
I am the wind
Oh desert wind
On my pilgrimage to the sea
I will prevail
I will not fail
To bring life into humanity
My song is creation
(? ? ? )the nation
Whispering the wisdom and its purity
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds keep blowin across my eyes
Santa ana winds...
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Wind From... Elsewhere
The wind blows here... the wind blows there
The wind seems to blow from... everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair...
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! Can you see its graceful fingers... playing in your hair?
Nay! You cannot see the wind... e'en though you know it's there.
It's flitting... it's flirting... it's prancing everywhere
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE! It blows unexpectedly... with a gentle breeze... it blows...
The Great Hand of Miracles... brings it... then it goes
To greet the early morning sun... to dance to and fro
From the highest, loftiest mountain heights... to valleys... far below. 'Who is He that sitteth upon the circle of the earth...
Who gathereth the winds in his fists—Who maketh a wind to pass over...
Thou hearest the sound thereof...
But canst not tell whence it cometh... and wither it goeth.' The wind blows here... the wind blows there...
The wind seems to blow... from everywhere.
But the wind I love... when it blows... blows fair—
This wind... when it blows... blows from... ELSEWHERE!
poem by Elga Haymon White
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Blow Ye Winds
Blow ye winds o'er the seas below.
See what you can conjure up as you blow
White foamy sprays,
wetness of haze
while all below is silent.
All of the fish and mollusks alive
don't seem aware of the winds that drive
their currents and drifts down below.
They do not care nor do they know
while all above is fierce.
And so the oceans that teem with life
say to the winds, 'Go tell the wife
that all is well out on the sea.
Your fisherman will come home to thee
while you wait with bated breath.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Said The Skylark
'O soft, small cloud, the dim, sweet dawn adorning,
Swan-like a-sailing on its tender grey;
Why dost thou, dost thou float,
So high, the wing'd, wild note
Of silver lamentation from my dark and pulsing throat
May never reach thee,
Tho' every note beseech thee
To bend thy white wings downward thro' the smiling of the morning,
And by the black wires of my prison lightly stray?
'O dear, small cloud, when all blue morn is ringing
With sweet notes piped from other throats than mine;
If those glad singers please
The tall and nodding trees--
If to them dance the pennants of the swaying columbine,
If to their songs are set
The dance of daffodil and trembling violet--
Will they pursue thee
With tireless wings as free and bold as thine?
Will they woo thee
With love throbs in the music of their singing?
Ah, nay! fair Cloud, ah, nay!
Their hearts and wings will stay
With yellow bud of primrose and soft blush of the May;
Their songs will thrill and die,
Tranc'd in the perfume of the rose's breast.
While I must see thee fly
With white, broad, lonely pinions down the sky.
'O fair, small cloud, unheeding o'er me straying,
Jewell'd with topaz light of fading stars;
Thy downy edges red
As the great eagle of the Dawn sails high
And sets his fire-bright head
And wind-blown pinions towards thy snowy breast;
And thou canst blush while I
Must pierce myself with song and die
On the bald sod behind my prison bars;
Nor feel upon my crest
Thy soft, sunn'd touches delicately playing!
'O fair, small cloud, grown small as lily flow'r!
Even while I smite the bars to see thee fade;
The wind shall bring thee
The strain I sing thee--
I, in wired prison stay'd,
Worse than the breathless primrose glade.
That in my morn,
I shrilly sang to scorn;
I'll burst my heart up to thee in this hour!
'O fair, small cloud, float nearer yet and hear me!
A prison'd lark once lov'd a snowy cloud,
Nor did the Day
With sapphire lips, and kiss
Of summery bliss,
Draw all her soul away;
Vainly the fervent East
Deck'd her with roses for their bridal feast;
She would not rest
In his red arms, but slipp'd adown the air
And wan and fair,
Her light foot touch'd a purple mountain crest,
And touching, turn'd
Into swift rain, that like to jewels burn'd;
In the great, wondering azure of the sky;
And while a rainbow spread
Its mighty arms above, she, singing, fled
To the lone-feather'd slave,
In his sad weird grave,
Whose heart upon his silver song had sped
To her in days of old,
In dawns of gold,
And murmuring to him, said:
'O love, I come! O love, I come to cheer thee--
Love, to be near thee!''
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Winds of rebirth
The invirogating winds
Of sweet rebirth are blowing
Our noble sons and daughters are
Drinking from the great well
Of united opposition of fighting
Over trivial things
The early morning breeze comes
To comfort your children great
Mother Africa
The beautiful sea wind opens
Her loving heart to you mother
The North wind of peace asks
You to be merciful Mother Africa
And teach us to love one another
So.Blow.You winds.Blow in
The winds of rebirth and love
And fraternity and universal justice
To the children of the world
We don't want to wallow in poverty
And grim squalor and exploitation
Blow.Ye kind hearted winds.Blow
to the world that denies multi-racism
Blow ye winds of loving freedom blow
Blow my brothers in peace
The world is united the world knows
Only one race dear windward brothers
Blow ye winds who love humanity
Blow to shatter away the idols of
False hypocrite racism for you know wind
There is only one race and that
Is the human race my windy brothers
And anything else is a fake fabrication
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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In The Harbour: Becalmed
Becalmed upon the sea of Thought,
Still unattained the land it sought,
My mind, with loosely-hanging sails,
Lies waiting the auspicious gales.
On either side, behind, before,
The ocean stretches like a floor,--
A level floor of amethyst,
Crowned by a golden dome of mist.
Blow, breath of inspiration, blow!
Shake and uplift this golden glow!
And fill the canvas of the mind
With wafts of thy celestial wind.
Blow, breath of song! until I feel
The straining sail, the lifting keel,
The life of the awakening sea,
Its motion and its mystery!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Junkie (demo Version)
Disillusions fillin' my head
Never happy, I wished I was dead
Can't remember things I used to know
Take another hit Lord, let the four winds blow
Junkie, junkie man
Feel so lonely, I wish I could cry
Suicidal, not man enough to die
Can't remember ever feelin' this low
Take another hit babe, here I go
Junkie, junkie man
Yonder come a man, Lord he's got my snow
Help me out babe, get down low
But I can't remember things I used to know
The Lord knows I'm to blame.
Take another hit Lord, and let the four winds blow
Junkie, junkie man
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Day in the Open
Ho, a day
Whereon we may up and away,
With a fetterless wind that is out on the downs,
And there piping a call to the fallow and shore,
Where the sea evermore
Surgeth over the gray reef, and drowns
The fierce rocks with white foam;
It is ours with untired feet to roam
Where the pines in green gloom of wide vales make their murmuring home,
Or the pools that the sunlight hath kissed
Mirror back a blue sky that is winnowed of cloud and of mist!
Ho, a day
Whereon we may up and away
Through the orient distances hazy and pied,
Hand in hand with the gypsying breezes that blow
Here and there, to and fro,
O'er the meadows all rosy and wide,
Where a lyric of flowers
Is sweet-sung to the frolicking hours,
And the merry buds letter the foot-steps of tip-toeing showers;
We may climb where the steep is beset
With a turbulent waterfall, loving to clamor and fret!
Ho, a day
Whereon we may up and away
To the year that is holding her cup of wild wine;
If we drink we shall be as the gods of the wold
In the blithe days of old
Elate with a laughter divine;
Yea, and then we shall know
The rare magic of solitude so
We shall nevermore wish its delight and its dreams to forego,
And our blood will upstir and upleap
With a fellowship splendid, a gladness impassioned and deep!
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Winter Night for Friend Hunter
Though almost imperceptibly. The snow was falling steadily,
unruffled by the slightest breeze. To coat the branches of the trees,
with layers of the purest white, which sparkle in the pale moonlight.
The contrast pleasing to my eyes. Beneath the trees a blanket lies
as yet a flimsy covering which is slowly thickening.
The snow continues relentlessly but quietly and stealthily.
The winter will remorselessly alter existing scenery.
Cover the faults and flaws with snow, assisted by the winds which blow.
When night departs and morning breaks, spread far and wide the fallen flakes.
Until the world appears to be as far as human eye can see.
A pristine expanse of pure white: a truly awe inspiring sight.
Which waits to greet us when we rise, a sight too bright for human eyes.
26-Nov-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Snow Flakes are dancing
Snow flakes are dancing, dancing in the air
By the lake. by the pier, far and near
Mother Earth has a white veil, draped on the ground
White fluffy snow falling gently. no sound
Sun took the day off, napping behind the cloud
Lonely dog barking, yonder, so loud
Dawn is hiding, does not know what to do
Blue sky tucked away can not peep through
Snow flakes all shapes, sailing, dancing all around
I see the foot prints of a lonely cat on the ground
A love bird flew over with a love cry
Looking for his mate? I don't know why
Kids are playing, riding on their sled
Up the hill, down the hill, on and on, not afraid
Parents are watching but having fun too
Little kids so cute, jumping on the snow like kangaroo
Sitting by the window and wonder, looking at the snow flake dancing
Mother Earth's miracle, I feel happy, feel like romancing.
poem by Syed Karim
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Australia's Vision
ALL still! and, high above, the sun
In cloudless, golden reign —
A mirage in the quivering west —
A horseman on the plain!
Silent, with hand above his eyes,
With thoughts undreamed, unguessed,
Like some bronze shape immovable,
He gazes down the west.
High overhead an eagle soars
On proud, wide-spreading wings;
Crouching, they watch with stricken eyes —
The furred and feathered things.
No song, no sound! but arching skies
With not a cloud to mar;
O horseman, gazing down the west,
What seest thou afar?
Is you a mirage dream, indeed,
Heat-born, shape-thronged, sublime?
Or but a mirror of the things
That thou shalt know in time?
What comes and goes in yonder haze?
What moving things are these?
Are they the masts of battleships,
Or are they phantom trees?
Speak thou, whose eyes are eagle-keen,
Nor dimmed with old regrets;
Are yonder shapes but spectral reeds,
Or are they bayonets?
Look well into the Vision's heart,
O horseman on the plain!
Trust nought except thine own true eyes —
For thine the loss or gain.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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There's Snow In Olinda
The high road closed to traffic you can't drive that way
And in the high mountain village kids with snowballs play
And it snowed in Olinda four inches today
In the coldest part of Sherbrooke some venture to say.
Down through the high country the Winter winds blow
And though cold in Olinda it seldom does snow
Four inches a good fall though elders recall
That they can remember a much bigger fall.
It's been snowing in Olinda on the higher ground
Four inches this morning 'the word's got around'
The last kick of Winter and Spring is so near
But such is expected at this time of year.
There's snow in Olinda a wonderful sight
And the golf course and park is a blanket of white
And kids in the village are playing in the snow
And through the high country the Winter winds blow.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Tis The Set Of The Sail -- Or -- One Ship Sails East
But to every mind there openeth,
A way, and way, and away,
A high soul climbs the highway,
And the low soul gropes the low,
And in between on the misty flats,
The rest drift to and fro.
But to every man there openeth,
A high way and a low,
And every mind decideth,
The way his soul shall go.
One ship sails East,
And another West,
By the self-same winds that blow,
'Tis the set of the sails
And not the gales,
That tells the way we go.
Like the winds of the sea
Are the waves of time,
As we journey along through life,
'Tis the set of the soul,
That determines the goal,
And not the calm or the strife.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Sonnet XX
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder ! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing ! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Sonnet XX: Belovèd, My Belovèd
Belovèd, my Belovèd, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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