The Ancient Speech
A Gaelic bard they praise who in fourteen adjectives
Named the one indivisible soul of his glen;
For what are the bens and the glens but manifold qualities,
Immeasurable complexities of soul?
What are these isles but a song sung by island voices?
The herdsman sings ancestral memories
And the song makes the singer wise,
But only while he sings
Songs that were old when the old themselves were young,
Songs of these hills only, and of no isles but these.
For other hills and isles this language has no words.
The mountains are like manna, for one day given,
To each his own:
Strangers have crossed the sound, but not the sound of the dark oarsmen
Or the golden-haired sons of kings,
Strangers whose thought is not formed to the cadence of waves,
Rhythm of the sickle, oar and milking pail,
Whose words make loved things strange and small,
Emptied of all that made them heart-felt or bright.
Our words keep no faith with the soul of the world.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine

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Sweet Music Man
Sing a song sweet music man
cause I wont be there to hold your hand like I used to
Im through with you
Youre a heck of a singer and powerful man
But you surround yourself with people
Who demand so little of you
You touched my soul with your beautiful song
You even had me singin along right with you
You said I need you
Then you changed the words and added harmony
Then you sang the song you had written for me to someone new
Oh, but nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Oh, and nobody else can make me sing along
Nobody else can make me feel things are right
When I know theyre wrong
Nobody sings a love song quite like you
Sing your song sweet music man
Travel the world with a six piece band
That does for you what you tell em to
And you try to stay young but the songs are sung
To so many people whove all begun came back on you
Sing your song sad music man
Makin your living doing one-night stands
Theyre through with you
They dont need you
Youre still a heck of a singer but a broken man
But youll keep on lookin for one last fan to sing to
Oh, and nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Oh, and nobody else can make me sing along
And nobody else can make me feel things are right
When theyre wrong with a song
Nobody sings a love song quite like you
Tag:
Sing your song sweet music man
I believe in you
song performed by by Dolly Parton

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Sweet Music Man
Sing your song sweet music man
Cuz I won't be there to hold your hand
Like I used to
I'm through with you
You're a hell of a singer and a powerful man
But you surround yourself with people who demand so little of you
You touched my -heart- (its suposed to be soul) with your beautiful song
You even had me singing along right with you
You said I need you
Then you changed the words and added harmony
And you sang the song you had written for to someone new
~Chorus~
Nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Nobody else can make me sing along
Nobody else can make me feel that things are right when I know they're wrong
Nobody sings a love song quite like you
~
Sing your song sweet music man
You travel the world with your six-piece band
That does for you
What you ask them to
You try to stay young but the songs you've sung to so many people
They've all begun to come back on you
Sing your song sad music man
Your making your living doin one night stands
They're through with you
They don't need you
You're still a hell of a singer but a broken man
But you'll keep searching for that one last fan
To sing to
~Chorus~
song performed by by Reba Mcentire

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Sweet Music Man
I didn't listen, and I couldn't see,
And all I have left now,
Are words she gave to me
Sing me a song sweet music man,
'Cause I won't be there to hold your hand
Like I used to,
I'm through with you
You touched my soul with your beautiful song
You even had me singing along right with you
You said "I needed you"
But then you changed the words and that harmony
And you sang that song you'd written for me
To someone new
But nobody sings a love song quite like you do,
And nobody else can make me sing along,
And nobody else can make me feel
That things are right when they're wrong,
Nobody sings a love song quite like you.
Sing me a song sweet music man,
Your making a living doing one night stands
that do for you what you need them to
Your still a hell of a singer but a broken man
And you surround yourself with people who demand
So little of you
But nobody sings a love song quite like you do,
And nobody else can make me sing along,
And nobody else can make me feel,
That things are right when they're wrong
with a song,
Nobody sings a love song quite like you.
So sing me a song sad music man,
I believe in you
song performed by by Kenny Rogers

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nightingale
(mccafferty, sweet, charlton, agnew)
1975 nazareth(dunfermline)ltd.
Sings a sad song for lonely women
Sings about women to lonely men
Sings a peace song to a soldier
Sings about loneliness to a friend
Shes a song, song singer
Let her music touch your heart
Shes a song singer from her heart
Sings a melody to haunt you
And some words to make you cry
If youre sad shell make you happy
When youre down shell take you high
Shes a song, song singer
Let her music touch your heart
Shes a song singer from her heart
Shes a song, song singer
Let her music touch your heart
Shes a song singer from her heart
Shes a song, song singer
Let her music touch your heart
Shes a song singer from her heart
song performed by by Nazareth

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Means What It Does...
‘…means what it does’.
I read: ‘God cannot be named; cannot be and cannot have,
a ‘proper noun’; God can only be approached
through verbs and adjectives.’
The eight petunias which arrived so neatly in
their cardboard box as if pretending to be a book,
are already upright, thriving, growing;
that magic petal radiance of the deepest purple-blue
so delicate, so unique, seems to fill
the space around them with a message:
this is what God sings;
this is how God grows;
this is what God does;
this is what ‘God’ means.
*
And what of the ‘soul’? Can this be named?
as God in us, how can we know it
but by verbs and adjectives;
it ‘means’ just what it does..
A meditation, deep in inner mysteries
as mind delved in itself
for hidden things yet beyond words,
beyond all self yet known to be,
interrupted by the delivery man –
I drag myself reluctantly from chair to door:
he’s met with such a glorious sunshine burst
of goodwill, gratitude…
this is what soul sings;
this is how soul grows;
this is what soul does;
this is what ‘soul’ means.
poem by Michael Shepherd

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Praise Of Ysolt
In vain have I striven,
to teach my heart to bow;
In vain have I said to him
'There be many singers greater than thou'.
But his answer cometh, as winds and as lutany,
As a vague crying upon the night
That leaveth me no rest, saying ever,
'Song, a song.'
Their echoes play upon each other in the twilight
Seeking ever a song.
Lo, I am worn with travail
And the wandering of many roads hath made my eyes
As dark red circles filled with dust.
Yet there is a trembling upon me in the twilight,
And little red elf words crying, ‘A song',
Little grey elf words crying for a song,
Little brown leaf words crying, ‘A song',
Little green leaf words crying for a song.
The words are as leaves, old brown leaves in the spring time
Blowing they know not whither, seeking a song.
White words as snow flakes but they are cold,
Moss words, lip words, words of slow streams.
In vain have I striven
to teach my soul to bow,
In vain have I pled with him:
'There be greater souls than thou.'
For in the morn of my years there came a woman
As moonlight calling,
As the moon calleth the tides,
'Song, a song.'
Wherefore I made her a song and she went from me
As the moon doth from the sea,
But still came the leaf words, little brown elf words
Stying 'The soul sendeth us'.
'A song, a song!'
And in vain I cried unto them ‘I have no song
For she I sang of hath gone from me'.
But my soul sent a woman, a woman of the wonder-folk,
A woman as fire upon the pine woods
crying 'Song, a song'.
As the flame crieth unto the sap.
My song was ablaze with her and she went from me
As flame leaveth the embers so went she unto new forests '
And the words were with me
crying ever. 'Song, a song'.
And I 'I have no song',
Till my soul sent a woman as the sun:
Yea as the sun calleth to the seed,
As the spring upon the bough
So is she that cometh, the mother of songs,
She that holdeth the wonder words within her eyes
The words, little elf words
that call ever unto me,
'Song, a song'.
In vain have I striven with my soul
to teach my soul to bow.
What soul boweth
while in his heart art thou?
poem by Ezra Pound

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Oh, My Darling Odessa!
OH, ODESSA!
Years fly and my love
Always stays in my heart,
Floats with me.
You invite as before,
You cosset even more
Odessa my home.
Anywhere I go I can hear your voice
Your waves ring like the bell
Your trees tales tell
Not in vain you call again
In my heart you will remain
In my heart you will remain.
Oh, Odessa my love, darling city, yes!
Without you I won't live really, I confess
And my soul won't be young
And I wouldn't sing the songs,
And I wouldn't sing the songs.
The Black Sea sings at night
Sweet dreams watch odessites
Seagulls and Sun.
Always young sings the songs,
Always bright brings along
Courage and fun.
Yes, Odessa my love, city jokes and joy
Without you I won't live and will be annoyed
And my soul won't be young
And I wouldn't sing the songs,
And I wouldn't sing the songs.
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska

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The "happy isles" of horace
Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the golden haze off yonder,
Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles,
And the ocean loves to wander.
Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills,
Proudly the fig rejoices;
Merrily dance the virgin rills,
Blending their myriad voices.
Our herds shall fear no evil there,
But peacefully feed and rest them;
Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear
Ever come there to molest them.
Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold,
Nor feverish drouth distress us,
But he that compasseth heat and cold
Shall temper them both to bless us.
There no vandal foot has trod,
And the pirate hosts that wander
Shall never profane the sacred sod
Of those beautiful Isles out yonder.
Never a spell shall blight our vines,
Nor Sirius blaze above us,
But you and I shall drink our wines
And sing to the loved that love us.
So come with me where Fortune smiles
And the gods invite devotion,--
Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the haze of that far-off ocean!
poem by Eugene Field

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The Muse And The Poet
The Muse said, Let us sing a little song
Wherein no hint of wrong,
No echo of the great world need, or pain,
Shall mar the strain.
Lock fast the swinging portal of thy heart;
Keep sympathy apart.
Sing of the sunset, of the dawn, the sea;
Of any thing or nothing, so there be
No purpose to thy art.
Yea, let us make, art for Art's sake.
And sing no more unto the hearts of men,
But for the critic's pen.
With songs that are but words, sweet sounding words,
Like joyous jargon of the birds.
Tune now thy lyre, O Poet, and sing on.
Sing of
THE DAWN
The Virgin Night, all languorous with dreams
Of her belovèd Darkness, rose in fear,
Feeling the presence of another near.
Outside her curtained casement shone the gleams
Of burning orbs; and modestly she hid
Her brow and bosom with her dusky hair.
When lo! the bold intruder lurking there
Leaped through the fragile lattice, all unbid,
And half unveiled her. Then the swooning Night
Fell pale and dead, while yet her soul was white
Before that lawless Ravisher, the Light.
The Muse said, Poet, nay; thou hast not caught
My meaning. For there lurks a thought
Back of thy song.
In art, all thought is wrong.
Re-string thy lyre; and let the echoes bound
To nothing but sweet sound.
Strike now the chords
And sing of
WORDS
One day sweet Ladye Language gave to me
A little golden key.
I sat me down beside her jewel box
And turned its locks.
And oh, the wealth that lay there in my sight.
Great solitaires of words, so bright, so bright;
Words that no use can commonize; like God,
And Truth, and Love; and words of sapphire blue;
And amber words; with sunshine dripping through;
And words of that strange hue
A pearl reveals upon a wanton's hand.
Again the Muse:
Thou dost not understand;
A thought within thy song is lingering yet.
Sing but of words; all else forget, forget.
Nor let thy words convey one thought to men.
Try once again.
Down through the dusk and dew there fell a word;
Down through the dew and dusk.
And all the garments of the air it stirred
Smelled sweet as musk;
And all the little waves of air it kissed
Turned gold and amethyst.
There in the dew and dusk a heart it found;
There in the dusk and dew
The sodden silence changed to fragrant sound;
And all the world seemed new.
Upon the path that little word had trod,
There shone the smile of God.
The Muse said, Drop thy lyre.
I tire, I tire.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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The Happy Isles
Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the golden haze off yonder,
Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles
And the ocean loves to wander.
Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills,
Proudly the fig rejoices,
Merrily dance the virgin rills,
Blending their myriad voices.
Our herds shall suffer no evil there,
But peacefully feed and rest them;
Never thereto shall prowling bear
Or serpent come to molest them.
Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold,
Nor feverish drought distress us,
But he that compasseth heat and cold
Shall temper them both to bless us.
There no vandal foot has trod,
And the pirate hordes that wander
Shall never profane the sacred sod
Of those beautiful isles out yonder.
Never a spell shall blight our vines,
Nor Sirius blaze above us,
But you and I shall drink our wines
And sing to the loved that love us.
So come with me where Fortune smiles
And the gods invite devotion,--
Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the haze of that far-off ocean!
poem by Eugene Field

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Write Me A Song
Kelly is raising a son
His dad left just after the birth
Now she's living on child support checks
I guess that's all that man was worth
She says, "I just need a man who will love me
"But they all just want one night of sin
"I know my life could be better
"I just don't know where I should begin."
She said write me a song
One that makes all the girls cry
And the old women swoon at the sound of my tune
And the hearts of the lonely will fly
Yeah, they'll fly...
Beth, she sings straight from her heart
She's hidden her tracks very well
But these days she's falling apart
And it makes me feel just like hell
She said, "Boy, you can't imagine my life
"The death and the drugs and the pain
"And though I keep running
"I can't seem to break from these chains."
She said write me a song
And fill it all up with the words
Like "brilliant" and "heavenly"
Make it sound just like me
Just like the first time "I love you" was heard
And now write me a song
One that makes all the girls cry
And the old women swoon at the sound of my tune
And the hearts of the lonely will fly
We're all feeding our lonely
Like it might go away
The doors of heaven swing wide
If we just find the right words to say
She said write me a song
And fill it all up with the words
Like "brilliant" and "heavenly"
Make it sound just like me
Just like the first time "I love you" was heard
And now write me a song
One that makes all the girls cry
And the old women swoon at the sound of my tune
And the hearts of the lonely will fly
Yeah, they'll fly...
She said write me a song
(Write me a song)
She said write me a song
(Write me a song)
She said write me a song
(Write me a song)
She said write me a song
(Write me a song
song performed by by Edwin McCain

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memphis Soul Song
Lookin' back on everything
And all the things that stay
I can count on memories
Cuz they don't go away
Good times were hard to hold
Until she came along
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
I'm not always there I know
But she don't mind at all
As pretty as a picture that hangs on my own wall
She's like Mississippi
When the sun comes up at dawn
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
With an angel on my lefty side and the devil on my right
She's the one who saves me from them dark unholy nights
Of all the ones who've left me it's a wonder she's not gone
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
She don't care what the game is
She's always down to play
My world without her seems a million miles away
She don't have to worry
I know where I belong
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
I've been dealt some aces
And I've played them all the same
But she's the only one that keeps me in the game
No fame or fortune could ever keep me gone
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
With an angel on my lefty side and the devil on my right
She's the one who saves me from them dark unholy nights
Of all the ones who've left me it's a wonder she's not gone
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
[BRIDGE]
There's a magic down in Memphis
That never seems to fade
Even now them voices carry
Like a lonely serenade
It's the memories that still and always will be on my mind
They move me every time
She see's the good in everything there is to see
Sometimes I wonder what she ever see's in me
I'm not always right you know
But she's never led me wrong
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
In all my travels I've never found a way
To find the words that say the things I'd like to say
I've sang some melodies but she's my favorite one
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
With an angel on my lefty side and the devil on my right
She's the one who saves me from them dark unholy nights
Of all the ones who've left me it's a wonder she's not gone
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
She moves me like a Memphis soul song
song performed by by Uncle Kracker from No Stranger To Shame

Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Lives
Our lives are songs. God writes the words,
And we set them to music at pleasure;
And the song grows glad, or sweet, or sad,
As we choose to fashion the measure.
We must write the music, whatever the song,
Whatever its rhyme, or metre;
And if it is sad, we can make it glad,
Or if sweet, we can make it sweeter.
One has a song that is free and strong;
But the music he writes is minor;
And the sad, sad strain is replete with pain,
And the singer becomes a repiner.
And he thinks God gave him a dirge-like lay,
Nor knows that the words are cheery;
And the song seems lonely and solemn-only
Because the music is dreary.
And the song of another has through the words
An under current of sadness;
But he sets it to music of ringing chords,
And makes it a pean of gladness.
So whether our songs are sad or not,
We can give the world more pleasure,
And better ourselves, by setting the words
To a glad, triumphant measure.
1872
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Desire So Deep
We are but isles in the sea of storms,
Thrown out asea to deal with our qualms.
And how my soul wishes to see, once more,
Those lush hills rising on your shore.
Your lacy trees laden with nature’s bliss,
Fruit as sweet as a maiden’s kiss.
But our realms are cleaved by stormy gales
And waves beyond the dream of sails.
Yet your lighthouse glows in the dawn,
And there is life eternal in your heart’s song.
poem by Albert Price

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Love And Life
LOVE only sings when Love is young,
When Love is young and still at play,
How shall we count the sweet songs sung
When Love and Joy kept holiday?
But now Love has to earn his bread
By lifelong stress and toil of tears,
He finds his nest of song-birds dead
That sang so sweet in other years.
For Love's a man now, strong and brave,
To fight for you, for you to live,
And Love, that once such bright songs gave,
Has better things than songs to give;
He gives you now a lifelong faith,
A hand to help in joy or pain,
And he will sing no more, till Death
Shall come to make him young again!
poem by Edith Nesbit

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Music Sings Within Me
Music speaks my language
what ever mood im in
passion
or sadness
music sings within
music calms my troubles
shows ever possible ending
with lyrics to different songs
music sings within
music shows me friendship
like happiness
and to never leave my side
music sings within
music sings within me
it speaks my language
calms my troubles
shows me friendship
music sings within
theres not one song that represents me
or my oh but unique life
theres not one song
thats dark enough
for those silly little fights
but bright enough for when i see you
not one song shows
how i feel when
i write along my arms
or when i lay currled up in a ball on a cold winters day
music sings within me
diffrent lyrics for everyday
this is the song of my life
i choose when to press
stop, pause, or play.
poem by Katie Norton

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Only Words
Baby take my hand and Ill take you higher
cause my one desire is you and I need you now
More than ever if it takes forever and I know
These things are things youve heard
But up til now they were only words
Chorus:
Dancing on the lips of intimate strangers
Shallow like the city, now theyre vivid like the sun
Blinding me with spirit
In the night my private soul can hear it
Common as the hummingbirds
But they were only words
Now I feel like a wise old man
I now understand all the hows, the whens, the whys
These thoughts are mine for the very first time
Love it springs, it blooms, eternal and true
It may sound like nothing new to you
Only words
Chorus
Bridge:
Heres hoping that well never break the silence
Heres hoping that we never run from ourselves
Heres hoping cant and never, not now
And gee its time to go are words well never know
Chorus:
Dancing on the lips of intimate strangers
Oh yeah! now theyre vivid like the sun
Blinding me with spirit
In the night my private soul can hear it
Common as the hummingbirds
But they were only words
Chorus:
Dancin on the lips of intimate strangers
Shallow like the city, now theyre vivid like the sun
Blinding me with spirit
In the night my private soul can hear it
Common as the hummingbirds
Only words
Blinding me with spirit
In the night my private soul can hear it
Common as the hummingbirds
But they were only words
song performed by by Debbie Gibson

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The Song One Sings In Old Age
The song one sings in old age
Is a quieter song-
It has more sadness in it,
And more remembrance.
It knows the greatest lyric of love
Will never be in it again.
The Ecstasy of he greatest passion is beyond it-
The song one sings in old age
Has a kind of Tenderness and Kindness in it
It loves nothing more than small and gentle dreams;
And grandchildren.
It goes along consoled
At hearing itself
And yet somehow different and lost-
For the song of old age
Has heard many songs
Which will be sung no more-
And in listening feels
It soon will be singing
Its last and saddest song.
poem by Shalom Freedman

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Hymn to Love
We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As théou, Léove, were the déep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:
But burn’d not through us thy imagining
Like fiérce méood in a séong céaught,
We were as clamour’d words a fool may fling,
Loose words, of meaning broken.
For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,—
The lives travelling dark fears,
And as a boy throws pebbles in a pool
Thrown down abysmal places?
Hazardous are the stars, yet is our birth
And our journeying time theirs;
As words of air, life makes of starry earth
Sweet soul-delighted faces;
As voices are we in the worldly wind;
The great wind of the world’s fate
Is turn’d, as air to a shapen sound, to mind
And marvellous desires.
But not in the world as voices storm-shatter’d,
Not borne down by the wind’s weight;
The rushing time rings with our splendid word
Like darkness fill’d with fires.
For Love doth use us for a sound of song,
And Love’s meaning our life wields,
Making our souls like syllables to throng
His tunes of exultation.
Down the blind speed of a fatal world we fly,
As rain blown along earth’s fields;
Yet are we god-desiring liturgy,
Sung joys of adoration;
Yea, made of chance and all a labouring strife,
We go charged with a strong flame;
For as a language Love hath seized on life
His burning heart to story.
Yea, Love, we are thine, the liturgy of thee,
Thy thought’s golden and glad name,
The mortal conscience of immortal glee,
Love’s zeal in Love’s own glory.
poem by Lascelles Abercrombie

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