Wild Geese
(A Lament for the Irish Jacobites.)
I have heard the curlew crying
On a lonely moor and mere;
And the sea-gull's shriek in the gloaming
Is a lonely sound in the ear:
And I've heard the brown thrush mourning
For her children stolen away;--
But it's O for the homeless Wild Geese
That sailed ere the dawn of day!
For the curlew out on the moorland
Hath five fine eggs in the nest;
And the thrush will get her a new love
And sing her song with the best.
As the swallow flies to the Summer
Will the gull return to the sea:
But never the wings of the Wild Geese
Will flash over seas to me.
And 'tis ill to be roaming, roaming
With homesick heart in the breast!
And how long I've looked for your coming,
And my heart is the empty nest!
O sore in the land of the stranger
They'll pine for the land far away!
But day of Aughrim, my sorrow,
It was you was the bitter day!
poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Wild Geese
Wild geese fly overhead
In the wild Autumn weather.
Souls of the newly-dead
Crying and flying together.
Home from the last great fight,
The souls of the Irish farin'
With a wild heart in the night,
A grey eye turned to Erin.
High and high in the sky,
From the red fields of slaughter
Ever they fly and cry
For the brown bog, the grey water.
Wild geese in the wild even,
Steady and strong their flight,
Their beds are made in Heaven,
All of the down white.
They have forgone that bliss
Till they have seen once more
The little land of peace,
Green and bright as of yore.
High o'er the sheep and cattle,
The bogs and the mountains lone,
The souls new-home from the battle
Cry their love and are flown.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Curlew Song
The viewless blast flies moaning past,
Away to the forest trees,
Where giant pines and leafless vines
Bend 'neath the wandering breeze!
From ferny streams, unearthly screams
Are heard in the midnight blue;
As afar they roam to the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!
As afar they roam
To the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!
The mists are curled o'er a dark-faced world,
And the shadows sleep around,
Where the clear lagoon reflects the moon
In her hazy glory crowned;
While dingoes howl, and wake the growl
Of the watchdog brave and true;
Whose loud, rough bark shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew!
Whose loud, rough bark
Shoots up in the dark,
With the song of the lone Curlew!
Near herby banks the dark green ranks
Of the rushes stoop to drink;
And the ripples chime, in a measured time,
On the smooth and mossy brink;
As wind-breaths sigh, and pass, and die,
To start from the swamps anew,
And join again o'er ridge and plain
With the wails of the sad Curlew!
And join again
O'er ridge and plain
With the wails of the sad Curlew!
The clouds are thrown around the cone
Of the mountain bare and high,
(Whose craggy peak uprears to the cheek -
To the face of the sombre sky)
When down beneath the foggy wreath,
Full many a gully through,
They rend the air, like cries of despair,
The screams of the wild Curlew!
They rend the air,
Like cries of despair,
The screams of the wild Curlew!
The viewless blast flies moaning past,
Away to the forest trees;
Where giant pines and leafless vines
Bend 'neath the wandering breeze!
From ferny streams, unearthly screams
Are heard in the midnight blue;
As afar they roam to the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!
As afar they roam
To the shepherd's home,
The shrieks of the wild Curlew!
poem by Henry Kendall
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I Feel Like The Sea-Gull
I feel like the sea-gull
That wanders the ocean-waves calm or tossed
With tempests in mid-Ocean or sea-shore:
I am the sea-gull
That with parched throat
Cries his piercing cry across the landscape
Where sea and sky are only and they meet
In my lone call:
I am the sea-gull that protests
And speaks injustice and its pains
And that is why
My throat is parched – yet I am free
Free in my flight across the air
Flipping around my wings; moving
Flying miles and kilometers moving
Flying near to land as much as can I
For I must bespeak – people must hear me.
My call I know will pierce
And the hearts
That lie now frozen by unjust hands
Will feel the warmth of summer in their innocence
Their throats no longer will be parched
Nor will they thirst
But by the springs of paradise will slake their thirst:
And they will have justice.
And the earth will flower again, no longer groan
Under its burdens
And I
And I, the lonely sea-gull of the ocean-winds
Will cry my eerie cry no more
My deed done my heart can break
And I
The lonely sea-gull will float
Float speechless on the Ocean’s bosom to the skies.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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The Song Of Exile
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air;
no bird here can sing as well
as the birds sing over there.
We have fields more full of flowers
and a starrier sky above,
we have woods more full of life
and a life more full of love.
Lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
my homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.
Such delights as my land offers
Are not found here nor elsewhere;
lonely night-time meditations
please me more when I am there;
My homeland has many palm-trees
and the thrush-song fills its air.
Don't allow me, God, to die
without getting back to where
I belong, without enjoying
the delights found only there,
without seeing all those palm-trees,
hearing thrush-songs fill the air.
poem by Antônio Gonçalves Dias
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Far Out In The Wilderness (Terzanelle)
Far out in the wilderness
I have come upon a thrush
far from its nest, singing in happiness
where knee high grass brush,
where grass is bristling
I have come upon a thrush
While some weeds do sting
where it with joy does sing
where grass is bristling
in a sound that is sweet and clearly does ring
with a blessing that is serene and profound
where it with joy does sing
in the most beautiful sound
as if it's praising the creator
with a blessing that is serene and profound
I heard the little great orator
far out in the wilderness
as if it's praising the creator
far from its nest, singing in happiness.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Coming-In Of Summer
Yesterday a swallow
Cuckoo-song to-day,
And anon will follow
All the flight of May,
For Summer is a-coming in.
Corncrake's ancient sorrow
Pains the evening hush,
But the dawn to-morrow
Gladdens with the thrush--
And Summer is a-coming in.
Oh! laburnum yellow,
Lilac and the rose,
Chestnut shadow mellow
In my garden-close,
And Summer, Summer coming in!
Lo, with shield and arrow,
Burnished helm and spear,
Flower and leaflet narrow
Rank on rank appear--
King Summer is a-coming in!
Summer, haste and hallow
Something of the Spring,
Which is harsh and callow
Till thy herald sing--
Oh! Summer is a-coming in!
poem by Thomas MacDonagh
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Birds Nest
Have you not seen the bird
flying far, again and again
collecting straws to weave a nest-
a home- for its young ones to be.
As eggs are hatched
out come the young
chirping or crying, to be fed,
the bird flies again, and again
collecting grains
to feed the young
who cannot fly
It chews the grain but does not swallow
beak to beak it feeds young fellow
caressingly and lovingly
so all are fed properly.
Young get wings, by and by:
and coaxed by the mother bird;
attempt to fly.
Then suddenly one day
the young one flies far away
It knows not where: and
The nest gets barren,
Lonely...
The bird DOES NOT GRIEVE
OR DOES IT
We humans, we do not know.
By the Pool of the Third Rosses
I heard the sighing of the reed
In the grey pool in the green land,
The sea-wind in the long reeds sighing
Between the green hill and the sand.
I heard the sighing of the reeds
Day after day, night after night;
I heard the whirring wild ducks flying,
I saw the sea-gull's wheeling flight.
I heard the sighing of the reeds
Night after night, day after day,
And I forgot old age, and dying,
And youth that loves, and love's decay.
I heard the sighing of the reeds
At noontide and at evening,
And some old dream I had forgotten
I seemed to be remembering.
I hear the sighing of the reeds:
Is it in vain, is it in vain
That some old peace I had forgotten
Is crying to come back again?
poem by Arthur Symons
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Sea-Fever
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
poem by John Masefield (1916)
Submitted by anonym
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A Ballad
With A Serious Conclusion
Crowd about me, little children--
Come and cluster 'round my knee
While I tell a little story
That happened once with me.
My father he had gone away
A-sailing on the foam,
Leaving me--the merest infant--
And my mother dear at home;
For my father was a sailor,
And he sailed the ocean o'er
For full five years ere yet again
He reached his native shore.
And I had grown up rugged
And healthy day by day,
Though I was but a puny babe
When father went away.
Poor mother she would kiss me
And look at me and sigh
So strangely, oft I wondered
And would ask the reason why.
And she would answer sadly,
Between her sobs and tears,--
'You look so like your father,
Far away so many years!'
And then she would caress me
And brush my hair away,
And tell me not to question,
But to run about my play.
Thus I went playing thoughtfully--
For that my mother said,--
'YOU LOOK SO LIKE YOUR FATHER!'
Kept ringing in my head.
So, ranging once the golden sands
That looked out on the sea,
I called aloud, 'My father dear,
Come back to ma and me!'
Then I saw a glancing shadow
On the sand, and heard the shriek
Of a sea-gull flying seaward,
And I heard a gruff voice speak:--
'Ay, ay, my little shipmate,
I thought I heard you hail;
Were you trumpeting that sea-gull,
Or do you see a sail?'
And as rough and gruff a sailor
As ever sailed the sea
Was standing near grotesquely
And leering dreadfully.
I replied, though I was frightened,
'It was my father dear
I was calling for across the sea--
I think he didn't hear.'
And then the sailor leered again
In such a frightful way,
And made so many faces
I was little loath to stay:
But he started fiercely toward me--
Then made a sudden halt
And roared, '_I_ think he heard you!'
And turned a somersault.
Then a wild fear overcame me,
And I flew off like the wind,
Shrieking 'MOTHER!'--and the sailor
Just a little way behind!
And then my mother heard me,
And I saw her shade her eyes,
Looking toward me from the doorway,
Transfixed with pale surprise
For a moment--then her features
Glowed with all their wonted charms
As the sailor overtook me,
And I fainted in her arms.
When I awoke to reason
I shuddered with affright
Till I felt my mother's presence
With a thrill of wild delight--
Till, amid a shower of kisses
Falling glad as summer rain,
A muffled thunder rumbled,--
'Is he coming 'round again?'
Then I shrieked and clung unto her,
While her features flushed and burned
As she told me it was father
From a foreign land returned.
. . . . . . .
I said--when I was calm again,
And thoughtfully once more
Had dwelt upon my mother's words
Of just the day before,--
'I DON'T look like my father,
As you told me yesterday--
I know I don't--or father
Would have run the other way.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Matin-song of Friar Tuck
I.
If souls could sing to heaven's high King
As blackbirds pipe on earth,
How those delicious courts would ring
With gusts of lovely mirth!
What white-robed throng could lift a song
So mellow with righteous glee
As this brown bird that all day long
Delights my hawthorn tree.
Hark! That's the thrush
With speckled breast
From yon white bush
Chaunting his best,
Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!
II.
If earthly dreams be touched with gleams
Of Paradisal air,
Some wings, perchance, of earth may glance
Around our slumbers there;
Some breaths of may might drift our way
With scents of leaf and loam,
Some whistling bird at dawn be heard
From those old woods of home.
Hark! That's the thrush
With speckled breast
From yon white bush
Chaunting his best,
Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!
III.
No King or priest shall mar my feast
Where'er my soul may range.
I have no fear of heaven's good cheer
Unless our Master change.
But when death's night is dying away,
If I might choose my bliss,
My love should say, at break of day,
With her first waking kiss:--
Hark! That's the thrush
With speckled breast,
From yon white bush
Chaunting his best,
Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Come In
As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music -- hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.
Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.
The last of the light of the sun
That had died in the west
Still lived for one song more
In a thrush's breast.
Far in the pillared dark
Thrush music went --
Almost like a call to come in
To the dark and lament.
But no, I was out for stars;
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked;
And I hadn't been.
poem by Robert Frost
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Wild Geese
Look at the golden dawn
See the sunset
On the silver thorn
Just remember
It was all for you and me
High on the ragged hill
He was dying
And hes dying still
Oh my lord
You were born to set men free
And the mission bells are ringing
As the prisoner finds release
And the love we knew is returning
Like wild geese
And the signal fires are burning
For the everlasting peace
And the love we knew is returning
Like wild geese
Only the closest heart
Could believe that loves
A dying art
After all the
Hungry mouths he fed
Eyes on the gentle one
Looked for the kindness
But they gave him none
Not a sip of wine
Or a crust of bread
song performed by by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Voice of the Swamp Oak
Who hath lain him underneath
A lone oak by a lonely stream;
He hath heard an utterance breathe
Sadder than all else may seen.
Up in its dusk boughs out-tressing,
Like the hair of a giant’s head,
Mournful things beyond our guessing
Day and night are uttered.
Even when the waveless air
May only stir the lightest leaf,
A lowly voice keeps moaning there
Wordless oracles of grief.
But when nightly blasts are roaming,
Lowly is that voice no more;
From the streaming branches coming
Elfin shrieks are heard to pour.
While between the blast on-passing,
And the blast that comes as oft,
Mid those boughs, dark intermassing,
One long low wail pines aloft.
Till the listener surely deems
That some weird spirit of the air
Hath made those boughs the lute of themes
Wilder, darker than despair.
Darker than a woe whose morrow
Must be travelling to an end—
Wilder than the wildest sorrow
That in death hath still a friend;
Some lonely spirit that hath dwelt
For ages in one lonely tree—
Some weary spirit that hath felt
The burthen of eternity.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Quail's Nest
I wandered out one rainy day
And heard a bird with merry joys
Cry 'wet my foot' for half the way;
I stood and wondered at the noise,
When from my foot a bird did flee--
The rain flew bouncing from her breast
I wondered what the bird could be,
And almost trampled on her nest.
The nest was full of eggs and round--
I met a shepherd in the vales,
And stood to tell him what I found.
He knew and said it was a quail's,
For he himself the nest had found,
Among the wheat and on the green,
When going on his daily round,
With eggs as many as fifteen.
Among the stranger birds they feed,
Their summer flight is short and low;
There's very few know where they breed,
And scarcely any where they go.
poem by John Clare
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Metal Detector
Down at the shore theres a place where theres no one vacationing
Theres just the sound of the call of the wild overcoming the fear of the unknown
And Ive got something to help you understand
Something waiting there beneath the sand
My metal detector
Is with me all of the time
Im the inspector over the mine
Look past the volleyball (look past the ball)
Look past the squawking gull (look past the gull)
Ignore the mountain of discarded falderal
cause Ive got something to make you understand
Something hidden there underneath the land
My metal detector
Is with me all of the time
Im the inspector over the mine
Metal detector, watch it shine
Every seashell has a story to tell if youre listening
But underneath every shell theres a story as well if youve heard enough of the sea
Then everything on the top will just suddenly stop seeming interesting
So listen now to the sound of the things that are found underground
Dont need no volleyball (dont need no volleyball)
Dont need no squawking gull (dont need no squawking gull)
Dont need to look at any bathing beauty doll (dont need to look at any doll)
For Ive got something to help you understand
Something waiting there beneath the sand
My metal detector
Is with me all of the time
Im the inspector over the mine
Look past the volleyball (look past the ball)
Look past the squawking gull (look past the gull)
Ignore the mountain of discarded falderal
cause Ive got something to make you understand
Something hidden there underneath the land
My metal detector
Is with me all of the time
Im the inspector over the mine
Metal detector, watch it shine
Dont need no volleyball (dont need no volleyball)
Dont need no squawking gull (dont need no squawking gull)
Metal detector, all the time (metal detector all the time)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lonely Child
Lonely child in the night.
Under heaven's golden lights.
I heard you cry near a stream.
Where maidens sing and sleep and dream.
Lonely child have no fear, the lord will dry your heart-
sick tears.
The night is young, a blue jay flies and whispers softly
please don't cry.
The lord above is free to roam he will help you from his
throne.
The lord loves you true and dear.
He only laughs he never swears.
Lonely child please don't run, beneath the sky, moon or sun.
You parents love you yes they do.
The clouds have dimmed, but no one knew.
Lonely child a lion prowls.
This lion is special he'd dare not bite.
He only hunts game in the wild never children o' lonely child.
Lonely child go back home, cross the deserts
where buffalo roamed.
The lord will lead you safe and clear.
So don't you cry nor shed a tear.
You parents miss your loving touch.
Your loving hugs and summer blush.
They miss the way you'd smile and grin.
You think they wouldn't you're only ten?
Lonely child in the night.
Your parents searched day and night.
For a child in the wild.
Their only son you lonely child.
Lonely child don't you cry.
And don't you dare tell a lie, on the lion in the wild.
He'd never hurt you lonely child.
Your parents love you very much.
So let them feel your loving touch.
Lonely child in the night.
A little dove flew, in fright.
I know you love your parents so.
So run and tell them let them know.
Let them know how you feel.
Let them know your love is real.
Lonely child run or fly.
Soar the heavens and the skies.
Soar the rivers and the streams.
Your smile will make the moonlight, beam.
poem by Shaan Sidhu
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Lonely Child
Lonely child in the night.
Under heaven's golden lights.
I heard you cry near a stream.
Where maidens sing and sleep and dream.
Lonely child have no fear, the lord will dry your heart-
sick tears.
The night is young, a blue jay flies and whispers softly
please don't cry.
The lord above is free to roam he will help you from his
throne.
The lord loves you true and dear.
He only laughs he never swears.
Lonely child please don't run, beneath the sky, moon or sun.
You parents love you yes they do.
The clouds have dimmed, but no one knew.
Lonely child a lion prowls.
This lion is special he'd dare not bite.
He only hunts game in the wild never children o' lonely child.
Lonely child go back home, cross the deserts
where buffalo roamed.
The lord will lead you safe and clear.
So don't you cry nor shed a tear.
You parents miss your loving touch.
Your loving hugs and summer blush.
They miss the way you'd smile and grin.
You think they wouldn't you're only ten?
Lonely child in the night.
Your parents searched day and night.
For a child in the wild.
Their only son you lonely child.
Lonely child don't you cry.
And don't you dare tell a lie, on the lion in the wild.
He'd never hurt you lonely child.
Your parents love you very much.
So let them feel your loving touch.
Lonely child in the night.
A little dove flew, in fright.
I know you love your parents so.
So run and tell them let them know.
Let them know how you feel.
Let them know your love is real.
Lonely child run or fly.
Soar the heavens and the skies.
Soar the rivers and the streams.
Your smile will make the moonlight, beam.
Lonely child in the night, an angel, there's no need for fright.
poem by Shawn Henley
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Queensland Opal
Opal, little opal, with the red fire glancing,
Set my blood a-spinning, set my pulse a-stir,
Strike the harp of memory, set my dull heart dancing
Southward to the Sunny Land and the love of Her!
Opal, shining opal, let them call you luckless jewel,
Let them curse or let them covet, you are still my heart's desire,
You that robbed the sun and moon and green earth for fuel
To gather to your milky breast and fill your veins with fire!
Green of fluttering gum-leaves above dim water-courses,
Red of rolling dust-clouds, blue of summer skies,
Flash of flints afire beneath the hoofs of racing horses,
Sunlight and moonlight and light of lovers' eyes
Pink clasping hands amid a Southern summer gloaming,
Green of August grasses, white of dew-sprung pearls,
Grey of winging wild geese into the Sunset homing,
Twined with all the kisses of a Queen of Queensland girls!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Guiled Fleece
Guiled Fleece
Forsaking the Bourse
That falls in the Spring,
The Bulls take stock, -
They must [l]earn to live
in a land without rallies
© Jonathan Robin parody Lady ISE written 20 July 2001
Wild Geese
Forsaking the mists
that rise in the Spring,
wild geese fly off,
they have learned to live
in a land without flowers.
Lady ISE 10th. Century
poem by Jonathan Robin
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