Spinning Songs
A MOUNTAIN SPINNING SONG
(A Young Girl sings it)
THE Lannan Shee
Watched the young man Brian
Cross over the stile towards his father's door,
And she said, 'No help,
For now he'll see
His byre, his bawn, and his threshing-floor!
And, oh, the swallows
Forget all wonders
When walls with the nests rise up once more!'
My strand is knit.
'Out of the dream
Of me, into
The round of his labour he will grow;
To spread his fields
In the winds of spring,
And tramp the heavy glebe and sow;
And cut and clamp
And rear the turf
Until the season when they mow.'
My wheel runs smooth.
'And while he toils
In field and bog
He will be anxious in his mind
About the thatch
Of barn and rick
Against the reiving autumn wind,
And how to make
His gap and gate
Secure against the thieving kind.'
My wool is fine.
'He has gone back;
No more I'll see
Mine image in his deepening eyes;
Then I'll lean above
The Well of the Bride,
And with my beauty, peace will rise!
O autumn star
In a lake well hid,
Fill up my heart and make me wise!'
My quick brown wheel!
'The women bring
Their pitchers here
At the time when the stir of the house is o'er;
They'll see my face
In the well-water,
And they'll never lift their pitchers more.
For each will say
'How beautiful
Why should I labour any more!
Indeed I come
Of a race so fine
'Twere waste to labour any more!''
My thread is spun.
AN ISLAND SPINNING SONG
(An Older Girl sings if)
One came before her and said, beseeching,
'I have fortune and I have lands,
And if you'll share in the goods of my household
All my treasure's at your commands.'
But she said to him, 'The goods you proffer
Are far from my mind as the silk of the sea!
The arms of him, my young love, round me,
Is all the treasure that's true for me!'
'Proud you are, then, proud of your beauty,
But beauty's a flower will soon decay;
The fairest flowers they bloom in the summer,
They bloom one summer, and they fade away.'
'My heart is sad, then, for the little flower
That must so wither where fair it grew
He who has my heart in keeping,
I would he had my body too.'
A MIDLAND SPINNING SONG
(An Old Woman sings if)
There was an oul' trooper went riding by
On the road to Carricknabauna,
And sorrow is better to sing than cry
On the way to Carricknabauna!
And as this oul' trooper went riding on
He heard this sung by a crone, a crone
On the road to Carricknabauna!
'I'd spread my cloak for you, young lad,
Were it only the breadth of a farthen,
And if your mind was as good as your word.
In troth, it's you I'd rather!
In dread of ere forgetting this,
And before we go any farther,
Hoist me up to the top of the hill,
And show me Carricknabauna!'
'Carricknabauna, Carricknabauna,
Would you show me Carricknabauna?
I lost a horse at Cruckmaelinn,
At the Cross of Bunratty I dropped a limb,
But I left my youth on the crown of the hill
Over by Carricknabauna!'
Girls, young girls, the rush-light is done.
What will I do till my thread is spun?
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Girl's Lamentation
With grief and mourning I sit to spin;
My Love passed by, and he didn't come in;
He passes by me, both day and night,
And carries off my poor heart's delight.
There is a tavern in yonder town,
My Love goes there and he spends a crown;
He takes a strange girl upon his knee,
And never more gives a thought to me.
Says he, 'We'll wed without loss of time,
And sure our love's but a little crime;'-
My apron-string now it's wearing short,
And my Love he seeks other girls to court.
O with him I'd go if I had my will,
I'd follow him barefoot o'er rock and hill;
I'd never once speak of all my grief
If he'd give me a smile for my heart's relief.
In our wee garden the rose unfolds,
With bachelor's-buttons and marigolds;
I'll tie no posies for dance or fair,
A willow-twig is for me to wear.
For a maid again I can never be,
Till the red rose blooms on the willow tree.
Of such a trouble I've heard them tell,
And now I know what it means full well.
As through the long lonesome night I lie,
I'd give the world if I might but cry;
But I mus'n't moan there or raise my voice,
And the tears run down without any noise.
And what, O what will my mother say?
She'll wish her daughter was in the clay.
My father will curse me to my face;
The neighbours will know of my black disgrace.
My sister's buried three years, come Lent;
But sure we made far too much lament.
Beside her grave they still say a prayer-
I wish to God 'twas myself was there!
The Candlemas crosses hang near my bed;
To look at them puts me much in dread,
They mark the good time that's gone and past:
It's like this year's one will prove the last.
The oldest cross it's a dusty brown,
But the winter winds didn't shake it down;
The newest cross keeps the colour bright;
When the straw was reaping my heart was light.
The reapers rose with the blink of morn,
And gaily stook'd up the yellow corn;
To call them home to the field I'd run,
Through the blowing breeze and the summer sun.
When the straw was weaving my heart was glad,
For neither sin nor shame I had,
In the barn where oat-chaff was flying round,
And the thumping flails made a pleasant sound.
Now summer or winter to me it's one;
But oh! for a day like the time that's gone.
I'd little care was it storm or shine,
If I had but peace in this heart of mine.
Oh! light and false is a young man's kiss,
And a foolish girl gives her soul for this.
Oh! light and short is the young man's blame,
And a helpless girl has the grief and shame.
To the river-bank once I thought to go,
And cast myself in the stream below;
I thought 'twould carry us far out to sea,
Where they'd never find my poor babe and me.
Sweet Lord, forgive me that wicked mind!
You know I used to be well-inclined.
Oh, take compassion upon my state,
Because my trouble is so very great.
My head turns round with the spinning wheel,
And a heavy cloud on my eyes I feel.
But the worst of all is at my heart's core;
For my innocent days will come back no more.
poem by William Allingham
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring.
'Let the light rain on her, the sweet Spring, till
She teems with greenery in the warm air,
Flower-hued, and vocal with the tender joy
Of bleating lambs and young birds on the wing.'
Thus on the cold hill doth the herdsman pray
Beneath his frozen star; the milkmaid, too,
As her raw hands take up the milking-pail,
And the wind freezes in the red dawn near: —
'Come, Spring, earth's sap, and mount in me until
I bloom, a rose of love: smile in mine eyes
Till my love from his wintry hill shall see
The star of youth, and leap into my arms!
O Spring, sweet Spring! but hear my prayer, and I
Shall build thee bowers of roses on the hill,
And all the summer there with bird and bee
Shall joy feast in the beauty of our love!'
Thus do they chant the wintry time away
In hill and vale, the two who look to when
The warmth of beauty takes life's wonder on,
And the rose of the flesh shall bloom for them.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Girls
When the sun rise
Dont let the time flies,
dont try to ignore, dont be bore
It's time to get up our sleepy heart
make this season yours,
in your life this should be part.
Young girl with a demure smile
Go out and let your smile shine.
With your sleepy and yet twinkled eyes,
be bright like the sun, see how it's fine.
Young girl with the brightest smile,
bright like the summer sun
You're the child of a summer fun,
go ahead curly-heared girl,
be a friend to those who shy,
it's time to be free under the summer sky.
You are the summer girls,
you found out from the start.
The summer lovers
who fell in love without fear.
Who chase the wind and fly
soar above the clouds,
laugh loud
scream and shout.
Be the summer voice
you are the summer girls,
you can make a choice.
Sing as the birds flies,
they heard the rythm
you have the hymm,
see how the they dance
beneathe that blue sky.
On your cheeks the wind will kiss
listen to your heartbeat
taste the sweat.
Dont worry about the bothering sound
when those boys and girls are around
be the thirteenth
with those fourteenth...
explore, have fun.
The summer will end soon,
and so the summer friends.
One by one they will gone,
and you will see what's remain.
Keep the memories
remember like you were always there-
The girl with a brigthest smile,
the girl with a demure smile,
you are the summer girls
that will always be remembered.
summer 1995-98
Yellowbell Alamanda & Wooden Heart
poem by Yellowbell Alamanda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Forever Young
(r. stewart/j.cregan/k.savigar)
May the good lord be with you
Down every road you roam
And may sunshine and happiness
Surround you when youre far from home
And may you grow to be proud
Dignified and true
And do unto others
As youd have done to you
Be courageous and be brave
And in my heart youll always stay
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young
May good fortune be with you
May your guiding light be strong
Build a stairway to heaven
With a prince or a vagabond
And may you never love in vain
And in my heart you will remain
Forever young, forever young
Forever young, forever young
Forever young
Forever young
And when you finally fly away
Ill be hoping that I served you well
For all the wisdom of a lifetime
No one can ever tell
But whatever road you choose
Im right behind you, win or lose
Forever young, forever young
Forever young ,forever young
Forever young, forever young
For, forever young, forever young
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers
Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers
Are lying in field and lane,
With dandelions to tell the hours
That never are told again.
Oh may I squire you round the meads
And pick you posies gay?
--'Twill do no harm to take my arm.
'You may, young man, you may.'
Ah, spring was sent for lass and lad,
'Tis now the blood runs gold,
And man and maid had best be glad
Before the world is old.
What flowers to-day may flower to-morrow,
But never as good as new.
--Suppose I wound my arm right round--
''Tis true, young man, 'tis true.'
Some lads there are, 'tis shame to say,
That only court to thieve,
And once they bear the bloom away
'Tis little enough they leave.
Then keep your heart for men like me
And safe from trustless chaps.
My love is true and all for you.
'Perhaps, young man, perhaps.'
Oh, look in my eyes then, can you doubt?
--Why, 'tis a mile from town.
How green the grass is all about!
We might as well sit down.
--Ah, life, what is it but a flower?
Why must true lovers sigh?
Be kind, have pity, my own, my pretty,--
'Good-bye, young man, good-bye.'
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When!
WHEN I am young again I'll hoard my bliss,
Nor deem that inexhaustible it is,
Remembering old age comes after this,
Joy grows to pain;
Nor waste one moment of youth's rose-sweet hours,
Nor trample one of all its countless flowers,
But drink the summer sun and soft spring showers,
When I am young again.
I will be wise with wisdom dearly won
By those who through life's wood have nearly run;
Learn what to do, and what to leave undone,
Risk or refrain.
I will not seek into my mouth to take
The bitter apple of the acrid lake,
But at clear fountains all my thirsts will slake,
When I am young again.
I will not brush the bloom to reach the core,
Remembering how it chanced with me before,
And bloom once lost returns not any more,
Hard cores remain:
I will fence round with prudence and secure
A lasting bloom whose freshness shall endure;
Oh, I will guard my peach of youth, be sure,
When I am young again.
When I am young again, I'll spend no breath
On bitter words the heart remembereth
When bitterness is swallowed up by Death
Holding sole reign;
I'll love so well that if they pass to sleep
Before me, I shall have no watch to keep
Over their tears-only my tears to weep
When I am young again.
I will not lightly joy nor idly grieve,
Nor for a heaven itself one soul deceive,
Nor will I be deceived, vainly believe,
Nor love in vain.
Come back, lost youth! Ah, Fate, that one gift give!
Then I will show that I have learned to live;
Youth shall be wise--and two and two make five--
When I am young again!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Year's Spinning
1
He listened at the porch that day,
To hear the wheel go on, and on;
And then it stopped, ran back away,
While through the door he brought the sun:
But now my spinning is all done.
2
He sat beside me, with an oath
That love ne'er ended, once begun;
I smiled--believing for us both,
What was the truth for only one:
And now my spinning is all done.
3
My mother cursed me that I heard
A young man's wooing as I spun:
Thanks, cruel mother, for that word--
For I have, since, a harder known!
And now my spinning is all done.
4
I thought--O God!--my first-born's cry
Both voices to mine ear would drown:
I listened in mine agony--
It was the silence made me groan!
And now my spinning is all done.
5
Bury me 'twixt my mother's grave,
(Who cursed me on her death-bed lone)
And my dead baby's (God it save!)
Who, not to bless me, would not moan.
And now my spinning is all done.
6
A stone upon my heart and head,
But no name written on the stone!
Sweet neighbours, whisper low instead,
"This sinner was a loving one--
And now her spinning is all done."
7
And let the door ajar remain,
In case he should pass by anon;
And leave the wheel out very plain,--
That HE, when passing in the sun,
May see the spinning is all done.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Ballad Maker
ONCE I loved a maiden fair,
Over the hills and jar away,
Lands she had and lovers to spare,
Over the hills and far away.
And I was stooped and troubled sore,
And my face was pale, and the coat I wore
Was thin as my supper the night before
Over the hills and far away.
Once I passed in the Autumn late,
Over the hills and jar away,
Her bawn and barn and painted gate,
Over the hills and jar away.
She was leaning there in the twilight space,
Sweet sorrow was on her fair young face,
And her wistful eyes were away from the place,
Over the hills and jar away.
Maybe she thought as she watched me come,
Over the hills and jar away,
With my awkward stride and my face so glum,
Over the hills and jar away.
Spite of his stoop, he still is young,
They say he goes the Shee among,
Ballads he makes; I've heard them sung
Over the hills and jar away.
She gave me good-night in gentle wise,
Over the hills and jar away,
Shyly lifting to mine, dark eyes,
Over the hills and jar away.
What could I do but stop and speak,
And she no longer proud, but meek?
She plucked me a rose like her wild-rose cheek-
Over the hills and jar away.
To-morrow Mavourneen a sleeveen weds,
Over the hills and jar away,
With corn in haggard and cattle in sheds,
Over the hills and jar away.
And I who have lost her, the dear, the rare-
Well, I got me this ballad to sing at the fair,
Twill bring enough money to drown my care,
Over the hills and jar away.
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sing on, Spinning Wheel
(PaaDavE RaaTnamaa)
(With the clarion call given by Gandhiji many intellectuals and poets plunged into Indian freedom struggle. As part of strategy to discourage the use of foreign goods, Gandhiji encouraged Indians to wear the home spun cotton (Khadi) . This song was a popular song written by Kavikokila Duvvuri Rami Reddy, glorifying the khadi and spinning wheel)
Telugu original: KavikOkila Duvvuri Raami Reddy(1895-1947)
Telugu translation: Ch J Satyananda Kumar
poddu poDupoo chukka poDichindi raaTnamaa
gooLLalO pakshulu koosEnu raaTnamaa
aruNakiraNaalatO aaTalaaDEnoolu
tammikaaDalalOni tantulanTEnoolu
manciniiLLallOna maRagipoyyEnoolu
saaliiDupOgutO sarasamaaDEnoolu
gaalitaragalalOna tElipoyyEnoolu
vaDakavE raaTnamaa vajraaladoodi
naDapavE raaTnamaa nakshatraviidhi,
poddu poDupoo cukka poDicindi raaTnamaa
gooLLalO pakshulu koosEnu raaTnamaa
muddulolkE paaTa mutyaalapaaTa
paruvunilpEpaaTa bangaarupaaTa
mattumaapEpaaTa madhurampupaaTa
nidralEpE paaTa niddampu paaTa
kaDupu nimpEpaaTa kanikarapupaaTa
paaDavE raaTnamaa Baavi Baaratamu
aaDavEraaTnamaa aandhra naaTakamu
poddu poDupoo cukka poDicindi raaTnamaa
gooLLalO pakshulu koosEnu raaTnamaa
kaTTa guDDaalEka kaTakaTaa paDucu
kuDuva kooDoo lEka gODu gODanunu
daasya vaaraaSilO darigaana lEka
bedari bedarii coocu pirikipandalanu
aatmanindala tODa naDalu bElalanu
purikolpa SanKambu poorinci lEpi
tippavE raaTnamaa dESa cakrambu
vippavE raaTnamaa vijaya kEtanamu-
Translation:
morning star appeared, Oh spinning wheel
birds in nests chirped, Oh spinning wheel
the cotton thread that plays with the rays of dawn
the cotton thread which looks like the fiber of floral stem
the cotton thread that gets boiled in water
the cotton thread that caresses the spider’s web strand
the cotton thread that floats in waves of the breeze
spin Oh spinning wheel the gem like cotton
haul on Oh spinning wheel in celestial street
morning star appeared, Oh spinning wheel
birds in nests chirped, Oh spinning wheel
lovely song, pearly song
status keeping song, golden song
stupor expelling song, melodious song
slumber driving out song, sturdy song
stomach filling song, compassionate song
sing on Oh spinning wheel, of tomorrow’s India
perform Oh spinning wheel, Andhra’s stage show
morning star appeared, Oh spinning wheel
birds in nests chirped, Oh spinning wheel
with no clothes to wear, singing distraught
with no food to eat, lamenting with grief
not able to find the shore, in the sea of slavery
startled and scared looking cowards
simpletons languishing in self blaming
to stimulate them, to get up and blow the conch shell
twirl Oh spinning wheel, the nation’s wheel
unfurl, Oh spinning wheel, victorious ensign
poem by Ch J Satyananda Kumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Girls Spinning
FIRST GIRL
MALLO lero iss im bo nero!
Go where they're threshing and find me my lover,
Mallo lero iss im bo bairn!
SECOND GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
Who shall I bring you? Rody the Rover?
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
FIRST GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
Listen and hear what he's singing over.
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
(A man's voice sings
I went out m the evening, my sweetheart for to find;
I stood by her cottage window, as well I do mind;
I stood by her cottage window, and I thought I would get in,
But instead of pleasures for me my sorrows did begin!
Fine colour had my darling though it wasn't me was
there:
I did not sit beside her, but inside there was a pair!
I stood outside the window like a poor neglected soul,
And I waited till my own name was brought across the coal!
Here's a health unto the blackbird that sings upon the tree,
And here's to the willy-wagtail that goes the road with me!
Here's a health unto my darling and to them she makes her own:
She's deserving of good company; for me, I go my lone.
My love she is courteous and handsome and tall;
For wit and for behaviour she's foremost of them all!
She says she is in no way bound, that with me she'll go free,
But my love has too many lovers to have any love for me!
FIRST GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
Who weds him might cry with the wandering plover!
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
Where they're breaking the horses, go find me my lover!
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
SECOND GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
Him with the strong hand I will bring from the clover.
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
FIRST GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
I wait till I hear what he's singing over.
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
(Another man’s voice
Are they not the good men of Eirinn,
Who give not their thought nor their voice
To fortune, but take without dowry
The maids of their choice?
For the trout has sport in the river
Whether prices be up or low-down,
And the salmon, he slips through the water
Not heeding the town!
Then if she, the love of my bosom
Did laugh as she stood by my door,
O Fd rise then and draw her in to me,
With kisses go leor!
It's not likely the wind in the tree-tops
Would trouble our love nor our rest,
Not the hurrying footsteps would draw her,
My love from my breast!
FIRST GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
He sings to the girsha in the hazel-wood cover.
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
Go where they're shearing and find me my lover.
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
SECOND GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
The newly-come youth is looking straight over!
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
FIRST GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
If you mind what he sings you'll have silver trover.
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
(A young man's voice sings
Once I went over the ocean,
On a ship that was bound for proud Spain:
Some people were singing and dancing,
But I had a heart full of pain.
I'll put now a sail on the lake
That's between my treasure and me,
And I'll sail over the lake
Till I come to the Joyce country.
She'll hear my boat on the shingles,
And she'll hear my step on the land,
And the corncrake deep in the meadow
Will tell her that I'm at hand!
The summer comes to Glen Nefin
With heavy dew on the leas,
With the gathering of wild honey
To the tops of all the trees.
In honey and dew the summer
Upon the ground is shed,
And the cuckoo cries until dark
Where my storeen has her bed!
And if O'Hanlon's daughter
Will give me a welcome kind,
O never will my sail be turned
To a harsh and a heavy wind!
FIRST GIRL
Mallo lero iss im bo nero!
Welcome I'll give him over and over.
Mallo lero iss im bo baun!
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Madrigal: Song For Nectaria
O sweet Nectaria, keep a song to sing.
And fill your mind with thoughts that make you sigh,
while in your heart are hopes that rise sky high.
Should August's stormy days, their strong winds bring,
or darkest clouds would hide the sun and sky,
love finds you, if you keep a song to sing,
and fill your mind with thoughts that make you sigh.
Then, when Autumn left no more leaves to cling.
And songbirds search for nests where else to fly,
Never think this will be your time to cry.
But mark, to always keep a song to sing.
And fill your mind with thoughts that make you sigh,
while in your heart are hopes that rise sky high.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Song Of The Seasons
Sing a song of Spring-time,
The world is going round,
Blown by the south wind:
Listen to its sound.
'Gurgle' goes the mill-wheel,
'Cluck' clucks the hen;
And it's O for a pretty girl
To kiss in the glen.
Sing a song of Summer,
The world is nearly still,
The mill-pond has gone to sleep,
And so has the mill.
Shall we go a-sailing,
Or shall we take a ride,
Or dream the afternoon away
Here, side by side?
Sing a song of Autumn,
The world is going back;
They glean in the corn-field,
And stamp on the stack.
Our boy, Charlie,
Tall, strong, and light:
He shoots all the day
And dances all the night.
Sing a song of Winter,
The world stops dead;
Under snowy coverlid
Flowers lie abed.
There's hunting for the young ones
And wine for the old,
And a sexton in the churchyard
Digging in the cold.
poem by William Cosmo Monkhouse
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Listen to The Song of Invisible Bird!
Listen to The Song of that invisible bird,
The Song of great singer several souls heard,
Sings sitting on tree of life, hidden under every leaf,
Its song go unheard by those pretend deaf,
Ever tuned to that great music,
Everytime it sings same song,
But with different lyrics and different words,
Autumn may come followed by spring,
Leaves may fall to make way to new,
Each leaf has that song, the bird flies under cover of green leaf,
When old yellow one fall,
Green leaves should learn from the fall of the old!
One can wait flowers to bloom,
Or can reap all fruits mature,
or remove immature buds or raw fruits,
The tree of life spread to several worlds,
One parallel to other,
Makes one world happy by another,
some may cross and intersect,
only to give or take life!
Come an sit near a flower,
Look at frog waiting for insects to come,
The invisible bird sings its song,
May it be heart of the flower,
It is flower for you,
source of nectar to insects,
place where frog gets its food!
It is cage for that bird ready to fly,
enters as nectar into insect,
and it enters frog as insects,
and moves along food chain,
It may be invisible to these eyes,
Yet it has its flight can be seen,
Look at your heart, the same bird sing,
Who knows when and where is its next flight?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When I Was A Young Girl
(A Song of Old Ballads)
WHEN I was a young girl, all in a green arbor,
When I was a young girl in Springtimes gone by
All the long days I went singing and smiling,
Down by the roses the sweet days beguiling,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!
Oh, the long days I must sit at my sampler,
Oh, the slow way that the still time would go!
I longed to be running across the bright heather,
'Off with the silk gown and on with the leather,
Following the raggle-taggle gypsies, oh!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!
When I was a young girl in days that were golden,
When I was a young girl, and life had no smart,
All the world seemed a place for my playing,
Full of great lovers to come to me, saying,
'Madam, I give you the keys of my heart . . .'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, and dreaming apart!
When I was a young girl, I dreamed of my lover,
A tall cavalier who should whisper me low,
'Love, on your lips are red roses a-blowing,
I am your true love, and fast is time going
Am I your true love? Oh, say yes or no!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl–
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!
When I was a young girl there came my true lover,
Swiftly I knew him in glad days gone by;
Never a sword or a lovelock or feather,
But oh, at his touch 'twas our hearts came together,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!
poem by Margaret Widdemer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
May This Song Reach Your Heart
A strong young woman sings,
Her voice so divine.
'May this song reach your heart.'
She showed the epitome
Of soul, body, and mind.
'May this song reach your heart.'
She sang to the heavens
With uplifting spirit.
'May this song reach your heart.'
Her song was made
So the world could hear it.
'May this song reach your heart.'
The song she sang
Was that of fine art.
'May this song,
Reach your heart.'
poem by Devon McElveen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spinning On An Axis
World spinning round
To the next revolution
Sun going down
Gonna rise up again
I watch the sun go down
With some sorrow
And now I know its gonna come back tomorrow
Aint no reason
It has to do that
Its the season of the culture bat
Spinning on an axis
Spinning on an axis
Staring in the face
Of time and space
Spinning on an axis
World spinning round
To the next revolution
Sun going down
Gonna rise up again
Hear me rising
Rise up and sing, rise up, rise up
Although Im curious
It isnt a crime
I want to know if ill
Find out in time
A lot of people busy doing their thing
Gonna wake up and sing
Spinning on an axis
Spinning on an axis
We ask the question
And the answers yes
Spinning on an axis
I watch the sun go down
With some sorrow
And now I know its gonna come back tomorrow
Aint no reason why
It has to do that
Its the season of the culture bat
I watch the sun go down
Wonder if its gonna come back
Certainly theres no guarantee
But I got a feeling it will be
Spinning on an axis
Spinning on an axis
Spinning on an axis
Spinning on, spinning on an axis
Spinning on an axis
World spinning round
To the next revolution
Sun going down
Gonna rise up again
World spinning round
To the next revolution
Sun going down
Gonna rise up again
Gonna rise up
Gonna rise up
Gonna rise up
Gonna rise up
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Flower and Bird
Amongst the lonely branches of a tree,
Stood a lovely flower fragrant and free,
She was the sight of every passer-by,
'What a beautiful flower! ' people would cry.
The flower in the prime of its youth,
Couldn’t identify life and its real truth,
Proud by its fragrance and beauty it stood,
And thought that beauty was what made it good,
Impressed by its beauty a little bird would sing,
The tale of its love and the whole valley would ring,
Perched on the branch of the great oak tree,
The bird sings its love for the flower to see,
People would stop and look at this tale,
Of the beautiful lady and the gallant male.
And one day the bird let its heart out,
And the beautiful flower refused with pout,
The bird wanting its beloved’s heart,
Asked her, 'What do I do so that we don’t part? '
And the proud flower told the lonely bird,
'There is a flower down the valley, have you heard?
Its brilliant red, is said is more beautiful than me,
So dear bird, make me red, as red as I can be! '
The bird said, 'But your beauty is no match,
So beautiful are you that my heart, you did catch! '
The flower in its pride and anger,
Told the bird 'Oh! Don’t bother',
The sadness in its eyes, the bird couldn’t see,
And said, 'I gift the colour red to thee! '
Saying this he pierced his heart on a thorn,
And spilt the blood on her till he was torn,
And the flower indeed did become red,
With the love of the little bird’s blood,
People would stare at the beautiful flower,
And amongst the branches it would hover,
The people passing soon forgot the song of the bird,
But the silent lament of the flower was never heard,
The flower never forgot the love of its bird,
But the melody of the poor bird was never heard!
poem by Supriya Mothay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Snowbird
(words & music by gene maclellan)
Beneath this snowy mantle cold and clean
The unborn grass lies waiting
For its coat to turn to green
The snowbird sings a song he always sings
And speaks to me of flowers
That will bloom again in spring
When I was young my heart was young then too
Anything that it would tell me,
Thats the thing that I would do
But now I feel such emptiness within
For the thing that I want most in life
Is the thing I cant win
Spread your tiny wings and fly away
And take the snow back with you
Where it came from on that day
The one I love forever is untrue
And if I could you know
That I would fly away with you
The breeze along the river seems to say
That shell only break my heart again
Should I decide to stay
So little snowbird take me with you when you go
To that land of gentle breezes
Where the peaceful waters flow
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Connachtman
IT'S my fear that my wake won't be quiet,
Nor my wake house a silent place :
For who would keep back the hundreds
Who would touch my breast and my face?
For the good men were always my friends,
From Galway back into Clare;
In strength, in sport, and in spending,
I was foremost at the fair;
In music, in song, and in friendship,
In contests by night and by day,
By all who knew it was given to me
That I bore the branch away.
Now let Manus Joyce, my friend
(If he be at all in the place),
Make smooth the boards of the coffin
They will put above my face.
The old men will have their stories
Of all the deeds in my days,
And the young men will stand by the coffin,
And be sure and clear in my praise.
But the girls will stay near the door,
And they'll have but little to say:
They'll bend their heads, the young girls,
And for a while they will pray.
And, going home in the dawning,
They'll be quiet with the boys;
The girls will walk together,
And seldom they'll lift the voice;
And then, between daybreak and dark,
And between the hill and the sea,
Three women, come down from the mountain,
Will raise the keen over me.
But 'tis my grief that I will not hear
When the cuckoo cries in Glenart,
That the wind that lifts when the sails are loosed,
Will never lift my heart.
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!