Trico's Song
What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale.
Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu! she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! Who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note!
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!
Related quotes
Spring's Welcome
WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale.
Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu! she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! Who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note!
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!
What Bird So Sings, Yet So Does Wail?
What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
Oh, 'tis the ravished nightingale.
Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu, she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! Who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
How at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note;
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring,
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring.
What Bird So Sings
What bird so sings, yet so does wail,
'Tis Philomel the Nightingale;
Jug, jug, jug, tereu she cries,
And hating earth, to heaven she flies.
Ha, ha, hark, hark, the Cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring.
Brave prick-song; who is't now we hear!
'Tis the Lark's silver lir-a-lir:
Chirrup, the Sparrow flies away;
For he fell to't ere break of day.
Ha, ha, hark hark; the Cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Small Nightingale
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
Oh! god save me!
Oh! lord save me!
I have tried to save myself but i failed to?
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a sorrowful bird
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a sorrowful bird
Oh! god forget about this;
Listen about the frog
The frog was jealous of me as i sing so well
He wants me to die
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
BUT, I am a dying bird
BUT, I am a dying bird.
Oh! god save me!
Oh! lord save me!
poem by Abhishek Nair
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My Heart Sings
My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.
poem by Jennifer Burns
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Nightingale
(ferry/manzanera)
Before the morning comes, will I hear your song
Come little nightingale, I wont be here for long
When youre up there flying, do you care
If theres no one else around?
When your lover leaves you in the air
Do you waver, do you fall?
Now while the moon is high
Shall we, nightingale,
Duet all through the night
A pair of souls for sale
Stars cluster glistening
Captive till the dawn
Patiently listening
Theyve heard it all before
Should I stay here or should I go?
I couldnt bear to be alone
Was it really love I saw?
Oh, now Ill never know
What is this I hear?
I recognise that song
Sweet little nightingale I knew youd come along
Soon when the morning comes.
We will both be gone
So sing pretty nightingale
Lead, Ill follow on.
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evensong
It is late, on a cold, dark, wintry afternoon;
Up high in a tree, a small bird merrily croons.
Trade in the town, has now begun to wind down,
And taking centre stage, is the bird’s sweet sound.
Like an operatic singer, his voice soars high,
And his song delights many, as they pass by.
Your ears can not help, but hear his loud call,
As the sun, once again, sets and darkness falls.
He sings for joy, at the very top of his voice;
To listen to his song, you have little choice.
He sits at the very top of the tallest tree,
Singing so loudly; his heart full of glee.
His plaintive call pierces the cool air,
As he sings his song, without a care.
A pure quality, his sweet song holds,
And he sings it out, so bright and bold.
His singsong attracts many a nice comment;
His performance appears to be Heaven sent.
Of his captivated audience, he is unaware;
His song boasts beauty, beyond compare.
Like a church choir, as they sing evensong,
This small bird sings so very keen and strong.
Through the dark streets, home, I wearily wind;
Sad to be leaving the bird’s sweet song behind.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Skylark
Go, tuneful bird! that gladd'st the skies.
To Daphne's window speed thy way,
And there on quivering pinions rise,
And there thy vocal art display.
And if she deign thy notes to hear,
And if she praise thy matin song,
Tell her the sounds that soothe her ear
To Damon's native plains belong.
Tell her in livelier plumes array'd,
The bird from Indian groves may shine;
But ask the lovely partial maid
What are his notes compared to thine!
Then bid her treat yon witless beau,
And all his flaunting race with scorn,
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,
Who sings her praise, and sings forlorn.
poem by William Shenstone
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The Tame Bird Was In A Cage
THE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
The free bird cries, 'O my love, let us fly to the wood.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Come hither, let us both live in the cage.'
Says the free bird, 'Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?'
'Alas,' cries the caged bird, 'I should not know where to sit perched in the sky.'
The free bird cries, 'My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands.'
The cage bird sings, 'Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned.'
The forest bird cries, 'No, ah no! songs can never be taught.'
The cage bird says, 'Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands.'
There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, 'Come closer, my love!'
The free bird cries, 'It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage.'
The cage bird whispers, 'Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.'
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Today to me, tomorrow to you [Azi mie, mâine ţie]
In me
And in you,
And in him
The heart sings the same
And weeps and it's grim.
It sings and it cries
Stuck deep in our chest.
It sings in the moment we open our eyes
And cries when our soul goes to rest.
When it sings and wind raves
We shut our sad graves.
When sings full of gloom
We shut our small room.
There is just one whim
In me
And in you
And in him.
poem by Ion Minulescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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A Song
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear;
There is ever a something sings alway:
There's the song of the lark when the skies are clear,
And the song of the thrush when the skies are gray.
The sunshine showers across the grain,
And the bluebird trills in the orchard tree;
And in and out, when the eaves dip rain,
The swallows are twittering ceaselessly.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear
There is ever a song somewhere!
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
In the midnight black, or the mid-day blue:
The robin pipes when the sun is here,
And the cricket chirrups the whole night through.
The buds may blow, and the fruit may grow,
And the autumn leaves drop crisp and sear;
But whether the sun, or the rain, or the snow,
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear.
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear,
Be the skies above or dark or fair,
There is ever a song that our hearts may hear--
There is ever a song somewhere, my dear--
There is ever a song somewhere!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Song Without End
Love sings a song,
a song without end.
It can be heard
singing out from everything.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Young and old hearts flutter
whenever they hear its call.
The sad and the lonely
under its spell fall.
When love sings its song,
a song without end.
Whose chorus can be heard
as the breeze whispers
among the trees
and all hearts fall
under loves rhapsody.
25 August 2008
poem by David Harris
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An Oarsman
Where is the coast?
Just in the boat
With no one around
He sings even a song!
In western horizon
The king 'Sun' sleeps alone
Merry clouds go brown
(So far) He sings the song!
A shower of rain
Can't let him pain
Miss.Windy starts to frown
(So far) He sings the song!
With force of angry waves
Even rocks can be damaged
How about his wooden bound?
(So far) He sings the song!
His old rudder shapes him solo
How to manage to and fro
Further rowing, no allowed
(So far) He sings the song!
Oh, my dear oarsman!
I wanna know your song
Give people to be strong
Like you, never down! !
poem by Eindaray Kyaw
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The Poet And The Bird
Said a people to a poet---' Go out from among us straightway!
While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine.
There's a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways
Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!'
The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased chanting;
'Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?'
I cannot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,
Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun.'
The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---
The bird flew to his grave and died, amid a thousand wails:---
And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there
Was only of the poet's song, and not the nightingale's.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Brave little bird
leo is the victam
leo is the judge
leo is the killer
and also is the king
seen every word
even if your sound
was in a silent sag
known every action
there is no mistake
only fair miss take
never say to lion
he misunderstood
if you want to stay-alive
at chain of leo-food
as a walkin minu
as a waitin victam
of the killer king
it is not a game
he is not a gange
the law of the kingdom
is a law of the jungle
leo who is king
also is a killer
only little bird
little honey bird
can sing out this song
sing this holly song
three monks; there
teachin every one
three monkey's wisdom
never say a word
never see around
never hear a sound
even your innermost sound
every one obey
only little bird
brave little bird
only sing this song
poem by Sallam Yassin
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The Nightingale
WHEN the moon a golden-pale
Lustre on my casement flings,
An enchanted nightingale
In the haunted silence sings.
Strange the song—its wondrous words
Taken from the primal tongue,
Known to men, and beasts, and birds,
When the care-worn world was young
Listening low, I hear the stars
Through her strains move solemnly,
And on lonesome banks and bars
Hear the sobbing of the sea.
And my memory dimly gropes
Hints to gather from her song
Of forgotten fears and hopes,
Joys and griefs forgotten long.
And I feel once more the strife
Of a passion, fierce and grand,
That, in some long-vanished life,
Held my soul at its command.
Ah, my Love, in robes of white
Standing by a moonlit sea,
Like a lily of the night,
Hast thou quite forgotten me?
Dost thou never dream at whiles
Of that silent, templed vale,
And the dim wood in whose aisles
Sang a secret nightingale?
Whither hast thou gone? What star
Holds thy spirit pure and fine?
In this world below there are
None like thee: and thou wert mine!
For a season all things last,
Love and Joy, and Life and Death;
Thou art portion of my past,
I of thine, whilst Time draws breath.
Fades the moonlight golden-pale,
And the bird has ceased to sing—
Ah, it was no nightingale,
But my heart—remembering.
poem by Victor James Daley
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In Fancy The Song Of The Dipper
In fancy the song of the dipper I hear
The river he sings in to my thoughts are near
With snow white breast and mostly dark brown
As he sing on a rock midst the rapids he bobs up and down
A beautiful to look at bird with a plain enough song
Once seen and once heard him you never get wrong
As birds go one might say a stranger to renown
He lives and breeds in the river that flows by the town
'Tis part of his natural duty for him to help his dipper wife
For to raise their young dippers for a river life
And in Seasons from now when the life from him long gone
The song of the dipper in the river lives on
In fancy I can hear him singing today
And the river he sings in from me doesn't seem far away
poem by Francis Duggan
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Why Do You Sing?
A beautiful bird
Sits in the cage
And sings
Still it sings
Even after its imprisonment
And I cannot under stand why
Why do you sing your pretty song?
When you have no one but me to listen
Why do you sing your pretty song?
When your own kind is gone?
Taken from home
Domesticated and tamed
Why do you sing, beautiful bird?
poem by Autumn Winds
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Her Song
Can you hear how she sings her song
and how it contents her so?
Can you tell when she sings it
where it has her go?
No, I think only she can say
as it takes her to a place
beyond this world, beyond this time
to somewhere out in space.
There she finds the comfort
that her soul is searching for.
There she finds the enchantment
that her fingers are aching for.
That's why each day she sings her song.
It's a transport for her mind.
For without her song she would always be
in a place her heart can't find.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Love Song
My heart sings a love song
whenever you are near.
It sings the sweetest song
for everyone to hear.
For those who know what love is
will know just what I mean.
For they will have heard
that love song
that so sweetly sings.
4 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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