The Castle-Builder. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Third)
A gentle boy, with soft and silken locks,
A dreamy boy, with brown and tender eyes,
A castle-builder, with his wooden blocks,
And towers that touch imaginary skies.
A fearless rider on his father's knee,
An eager listener unto stories told
At the Round Table of the nursery,
Of heroes and adventures manifold.
There will be other towers for thee to build;
There will be other steeds for thee to ride;
There will be other legends, and all filled
With greater marvels and more glorified.
Build on, and make thy castles high and fair,
Rising and reaching upward to the skies;
Listen to voices in the upper air,
Nor lose thy simple faith in mysteries.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks
Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks
Sit together, building blocks;
Shuffle-Shoon is old and grey,
Amber-Locks a little child,
But together at their play
Age and Youth are reconciled,
And with sympathetic glee
Build their castles fair to see.
"When I grow to be a man"
(So the wee one's prattle ran),
"I shall build a castle so--
With a gateway broad and grand;
Here a pretty vine shall grow,
There a soldier guard shall stand;
And the tower shall be so high,
Folks will wonder, by-and-by!"
Shuffle-Shoon quoth: "Yes, I know;
Thus I builded long ago!
Here a gate and there a wall,
Here a window, there a door;
Here a steeple wondrous tall
Riseth ever more and more!
But the years have levelled low
What I builded long ago!"
So they gossip at their play,
Heedless of the fleeting day;
One speaks of the Long Ago
Where his dead hopes buried lie;
One with chubby cheeks aglow
Prattleth of the By-and-By;
Side by side, they build their blocks--
Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks.
poem by Eugene Field
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To His Son, Vincent Corbet
What I shall leave thee none can tell,
But all shall say I wish thee well:
I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health;
Nor too much wealth, nor wit, come to thee,
So much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning, not for show,
Enough for to instruct and know,
Not such as gentlemen require
To prate at table or at fire.
I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortunes, and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at court,
Not to build on, but support,
To keep thee, not in doing many
Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy ways,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And when thy soul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.
poem by Richard Corbet
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I Will Not Let Thee Go
I will not let thee go.
Ends all our month-long love in this?
Can it be summed up so,
Quit in a single kiss?
I will not let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds,
As the soft south can blow
And toss the feathered seeds,
Then might I let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
Had not the great sun seen, I might;
Or were he reckoned slow
To bring the false to light,
Then might I let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
The stars that crowd the summer skies
Have watched us so below
With all their million eyes,
I dare not let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
Have we chid the changeful moon,
Now rising late, and now
Because she set too soon,
And shall I let thee go?
I will not let thee go.
Have not the young flowers been content,
Plucked ere their buds could blow,
To seal our sacrament?
I cannot let thee go.
I will not let thee go.
I hold thee by too many bands:
Thou sayest farewell, and lo!
I have thee by the hands,
And will not let thee go.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Norway, norway
Norway, Norway,
Rising in blue from the sea's gray and green,
Islands around like fledglings tender,
Fjord-tongues with slender,
Tapering tips in the silence seen.
Rivers, valleys,
Mate among mountains, wood-ridge and slope
Wandering follow. Where the wastes lighten,
Lake and plain brighten
Hallow a temple of peace and hope.
Norway, Norway,
Houses and huts, not castles grand,
Gentle or hard,
Thee we guard, thee we guard,
Thee, our future's fair land.
Norway, Norway,
Glistening heights where skis swiftly go,
Harbors with fishermen, salts, and craftsmen,
Rivers and raftsmen,
Herdsmen and horns and the glacier-glow.
Moors and meadows,
Runes in the woodlands, and wide-mown swaths,
Cities like flowers, streams that run dashing
Out to the flashing
White of the sea, where the fish-school froths.
Norway, Norway,
Houses and huts, not castles grand,
Gentle or hard,
Thee we guard, thee we guard,
Thee, our future's fair land.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Though imaginary…
Equator is an imaginary line
Around which I build the geography.
Solar signs are imaginary divisions
Around which I build the astrology.
God is an imaginary figure
Around which I build the religion.
What, if your love of me is imaginary?
Let me write volumes about you and our love.
16.12.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Another Pyramid
Sad to say our mighty ruler
Is not really in the pink
Hopes could not be minuscular
That he'll come back from the brink
Not to beat around the bush
He looks like heading for his box
At the risk of seeming pushy
We must plan for future shocks
According to the hawk of Horus
Our most regal invalid
Is not that much longer for us
Build another pyramid
Build it, build it
Another pyramid
build it, build it
Though all doctors and physicians
Have been summoned to his bed
It'll soon be top morticians
We'll be calling for instead
With each wheeze the nation's humming
Egypt shakes with every cough
No two ways about what's coming
No discussion, bets are off
Soon our monarch will have filled the tomb
Just like his fathers did
Summon Egypt's greatest builder
Need another pyramid
Build it, build it
Another pyramid
Build it, build it
We hate to depress the nation
But our leader has been told
He should scrub his next vacation
Even put tonight on hold
This is where his loyal priesthood
Has the chance to do him proud
Holy leaders at the least should
See him happy to his shroud
He must have a vault that's grand by
Any standards for to live
Put five thousand slaves on standby
Build another pyramid
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sand Castles
Once upon a summer day,
I saw a little girl at play.
She sat alone, a boy came by,
Her heart went soaring to the sky.
He asked her to come and play,
We'll build a castle every day.
One day the boy began to frown,
The little castle tumbled down.
Children build castles every day,
But rain can wash the sand away.
poem by Heather Burns
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A Monument For The Soldiers
A monument for the Soldiers!
And what will ye build it of?
Can ye build it of marble, or brass, or bronze,
Outlasting the Soldiers' love?
Can ye glorify it with legends
As grand as their blood hath writ
From the inmost shrine of this land of thine
To the outermost verge of it?
And the answer came: We would build it
Out of our hopes made sure,
And out of our purest prayers and tears,
And out of our faith secure:
We would build it out of the great white truths
Their death hath sanctified,
And the sculptured forms of the men in arms,
And their faces ere they died.
And what heroic figures
Can the sculptor carve in stone?
Can the marble breast be made to bleed,
And the marble lips to moan?
Can the marble brow be fevered?
And the marble eyes be graved
To look their last, as the flag floats past,
On the country they have saved?
And the answer came: The figures
Shall all be fair and brave,
And, as befitting, as pure and white
As the stars above their grave!
The marble lips, and breast and brow
Whereon the laurel lies,
Bequeath us right to guard the flight
Of the old flag in the skies!
A monument for the Soldiers!
Built of a people's love,
And blazoned and decked and panoplied
With the hearts ye build it oft
And see that ye build it stately,
In pillar and niche and gate,
And high in pose as the souls of those
It would commemorate!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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To Myra
O thou, whose tender serious eyes
Expressive speak the mind I love;
The gentle azure of the skies,
The pensive shadows of the grove;
O mix their beauteous beams with mine,
And let us interchange our hearts;
Let all their sweetness on me shine,
Poured through my soul be all their darts.
Ah! 'tis too much! I cannot bear
At once so soft, so keen a ray:
In pity then, my lovely fair,
O turn those killing eyes away!
But what avails it to conceal
One charm, where nought but charms I see?
Their lustre then again reveal,
And let me, Myra, die of thee!
poem by James Thomson
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The Child's Evening Hymn
Father! while the daylight dies,
Hear our grateful voices rise:
For the blessings that we share,
For thy kindness and thy care,
For the joy that fills our breast;
For the love that makes us blest,
We thank thee, Father.
For an earthly father's arm,
Shielding us from wrong and harm;
For a mother's watchful cares,
Mingled with her many prayers;
For the happy kindred band,
'Midst whose peaceful links we stand,
We bless thee, Father.
Yet while ‘neath the evening skies,
Thus we bid our thanks arise,
Father! still we think of those,
Who are bow'd with many woes,
Whom no earthly parent's arm
Can protect from wrong and harm;
The poor slaves, Father.
Ah! while we are richly blest,
They are wretched and distrest!
Outcasts in their native land,
Crush'd beneath oppression's hand,
Scarcely knowing even thee,
Mighty Lord of earth and sea!
Oh, save them, Father!
Touch the flinty hearts, that long
Have, remorseless, done them wrong;
Ope the eyes that long have been
Blind to every guilty scene;
That the slave—a slave no more—
Grateful thanks to thee may pour,
And bless thee, Father
poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wall Of Love
Ooh great wall of love, build me a great wall of love
When the blind man sings about the peaceful things
You shout that its not good enough
Ah we wait till daylight hours
Waiting for a sign from you
Golden temples concrete towers
Building mansions on the hillside next to you
In the city souls awaken bodies shaking
Oh pull me up let me see the view
And to the hungry in the gutter
Weve deprived them bread and butter
Always not enough
No not enough
Great wall of love, build me a great wall of love
When the blind man sings about the peaceful things
You shout that its still not enough.
Ah well its not the sound of ghosts I hear
Its the devil with his chainsaw
And Ill be running through the ghettos
Through the townships of soweto
Always not enough
No not enough
Brothers missing, babies kissing
And the thing that got to you
Burning never turning next to you
Ooh great wall of love
Build me a great wall of love
When the blind man sings about the peaceful things
You shout that its still not enough
So listen to me darling
Theyve got worries theyve got troubles on their mind
And when you hear them reaching out
Theyre reaching out for something they cant find
Oh I believe one great day the rain will come
And wash this mess away
Oh I believe one great day the rain will come
Theyve got silver and diamonds
Theyve got paradise around them
Theyve got blue skies so clear
Theyve got their prisoner in a wagon
While the children chase the dragon
And the free bird files so clear
It files away
Fly fly fly away
Fly away
Oh you fly away
And may your sweet lips sing to me
Let the bells ring wherever freedom be
One babe is born and another one dies
Theres people making love tonight
People making love tonight
Ah people making love tonight
People making love
People making love tonight
People making love
I can hear them reaching out
I can hear them reaching out
I can hear them reaching out
I can hear them reaching out
Words and music : simple minds reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dance The Night Away
By jack bruce and pete brown
Gonna build myself a castle
High up in the clouds.
Therell be skies outside my window;
Lose these streets and crowds.
Dance the night away.
Will find myself an ocean,
Sail into the blue,
Live with golden swordfish,
Forget the time of you.
Dance the night away.
Dance myself to nothing.
Vanish from this place.
Gonna turn myself to shadow
So I cant see your face.
Dance the night away.
song performed by by Cream
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dance The Night Away
By jack bruce and pete brown
Gonna build myself a castle
High up in the clouds.
Therell be skies outside my window;
Lose these streets and crowds.
Dance the night away.
Will find myself an ocean,
Sail into the blue,
Live with golden swordfish,
Forget the time of you.
Dance the night away.
Dance myself to nothing.
Vanish from this place.
Gonna turn myself to shadow
So I cant see your face.
Dance the night away.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXIX
Ancient of days! What word is thy command
To one befooled of wit and his own way?
What counsel hast thou, and what chastening hand
For a lost soul grown old in its dismay?
What penance shall he do, what ransom pay,
Of blood poured out for faith in a far land,
What mute knee--service, weeping here to--day,
In words of prayer no ear shall understand?
Let him thy servant be, the least of all
In the Lord's Courts, but near thy mysteries,
To touch the crumbs which from thy table fall,
Let him--. But lo, thou speakest: ``Not with these
Is God delighted. Get thee homeward hence.
They need thee more who wait deliverance!''
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Builder
WHEN the deep cunning architect
Had the great minster planned,
They worked in faith for twice two hundred years
And reared the building grand;
War came and famine and they did not falter,
But held his line,
And filled the space divine
With carvings meet for the soul's eye;
And not alone the chantry and thereby
The snowy altar,
But in every part
They carved the minster after his own heart,
And made the humblest places fair,
Even the dimmest cloister-way and stair,
With vineyard tendrils,
With ocean-seeming shells,
With filmy weeds from sea,
With bell-flowers delicate and bells,
All done minute with excellent tracery.
Come, O my soul,
And let me build thee like the minster fair,
Deep based and large as air,
And full of hidden graces wrought
In faith and infinite thought,
Till all thy dimmest ways,
Shall gleam with little vines and fruits of praise,
So that one day
The consummate Architect
Who planned the souls that we are set to build,
May pause and say:
How curiously wrought is this!
The builder followed well My thought, My chart,
And worked for Me, not for the world's wild heart;
Here are the outward virtues true!
But see how all the inner parts are filled
With singular bliss:
Set it aside
I shall come here again at eventide.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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In Days Of Old
I listen to the stories
grandmother told,
from legends of old
fables worn out,
I hear them
over and over,
politely listen,
though they seldom vary
sometines i wonder
if even she is bored,
or is it the legacy of her time,
imposed to report,
she holds on with
a tenacity, that the past
will not fade or dim,
nor bow to medias of great din
she has a way of cocking her head
a smile screws across her face,
as lips curve and purse,
the soft breeze of words
slow at first, then flow
with a current of pictures
and thoughts, dressed in
metaphor and allegory,
filed with glamor and
glory, cloaked in raiment
of story, rolls on meandering,
from then to now and back again,
the most trivial detail becomes
a dragon or hero of import,
her sonorous tones caress
the memories that loom up
and the past comes echoing out,
of gleaming eyes,
lit up memories
that filled her skies
romantic and true
filled with satire
and sometimes
sarcasm too
as I listen
I turn the gun
of scrutiny
upon myself
and wonder
will I be be
this
way too
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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Father Of Night
Father of night, father of day,
Father, who taketh the darkness away,
Father, who teacheth the bird to fly,
Builder of rainbows up in the sky,
Father of loneliness and pain,
Father of love and father of rain.
Father of day, father of night,
Father of black, father of white,
Father, who build the mountain so high,
Who shapeth the cloud up in the sky,
Father of time, father of dreams,
Father, who turneth the rivers and streams.
Father of grain, father of wheat,
Father of cold and father of heat,
Father of air and father of trees,
Who dwells in our hearts and our memories,
Father of minutes, father of days,
Father of whom we most solemnly praise.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Builder Has Finished Build Well
Builder has finished build well
Only the painter to paint good
Wish he paints bright and peace
Builder has finished build well
Who the builder? who the painter?
Light your search to find rather
Builder has finished build well
Only the painter to paint good
poem by Indira Renganathan
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A Night In June
Lady! in this night of June
Fair like thee and holy,
Art thou gazing at the moon
That is rising slowly?
I am gazing on her now:
Something tells me, so art thou.
Night hath been when thou and I
Side by side were sitting,
Watching o'er the moonlit sky
Fleecy cloudlets flitting.
Close our hands were linkèd then;
When will they be linked again?
What to me the starlight still,
Or the moonbeams' splendour,
If I do not feel the thrill
Of thy fingers slender?
Summer nights in vain are clear,
If thy footstep be not near.
Roses slumbering in their sheaths
O'er my threshold clamber,
And the honeysuckle wreathes
Its translucent amber
Round the gables of my home:
How is it thou dost not come?
If thou camest, rose on rose
From its sleep would waken;
From each flower and leaf that blows
Spices would be shaken;
Floating down from star and tree,
Dreamy perfumes welcome thee.
I would lead thee where the leaves
In the moon-rays glisten;
And, where shadows fall in sheaves,
We would lean and listen
For the song of that sweet bird
That in April nights is heard.
And when weary lids would close,
And thy head was drooping,
Then, like dew that steeps the rose,
O'er thy languor stooping,
I would, till I woke a sigh,
Kiss thy sweet lips silently.
I would give thee all I own,
All thou hast would borrow;
I from thee would keep alone
Fear and doubt and sorrow.
All of tender that is mine,
Should most tenderly be thine.
Moonlight! into other skies,
I beseech thee wander.
Cruel, thus to mock mine eyes,
Idle, thus to squander
Love's own light on this dark spot;-
For my lady cometh not!
poem by Alfred Austin
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Dan Paine
Old friend of mine, whose chiming name
Has been the burthen of a rhyme
Within my heart since first I came
To know thee in thy mellow prime;
With warm emotions in my breast
That can but coldly be expressed,
And hopes and wishes wild and vain,
I reach my hand to thee, Dan Paine.
In fancy, as I sit alone
In gloomy fellowship with care,
I hear again thy cheery tone,
And wheel for thee an easy chair;
And from my hand the pencil falls--
My book upon the carpet sprawls,
As eager soul and heart and brain,
Leap up to welcome thee, Dan Paine.
A something gentle in thy mein,
A something tender in thy voice,
Has made my trouble so serene,
I can but weep, from very choice.
And even then my tears, I guess,
Hold more of sweet than bitterness,
And more of gleaming shine than rain,
Because of thy bright smile, Dan Paine.
The wrinkles that the years have spun
And tangled round thy tawny face,
Are kinked with laughter, every one,
And fashioned in a mirthful grace.
And though the twinkle of thine eyes
Is keen as frost when Summer dies,
It can not long as frost remain
While thy warm soul shines out, Dan Paine.
And so I drain a health to thee;--
May merry Joy and jolly Mirth
Like children clamber on thy knee,
And ride thee round the happy earth!
And when, at last, the hand of Fate
Shall lift the latch of Canaan's gate,
And usher me in thy domain,
Smile on me just as now, Dan Paine.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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