En.Citatepedia^®.ro

What The Shutter Said As She Lay By The Fire

In The Farmer's House
I'M glad to lie on a sack of leaves
By a wasted fire and take my ease.
For the wind would strip me bare as a tree
The wind would blow oul’ age upon me,
And I'm dazed with the wind, the rain, and the cold!
If I had only the good red gold
To buy me the comfort of a roof,
And under the thatch the brown of the smoke!
I'd he up in my painted room
Until my hired girl would come;
And when the sun had warmed my walls
I'd rise up in my silks and shawls,
And break my fast beside the fire.
And Fd watch them that had to sweat
And shiver for shelter and what they ate
The farmer digging in the fields,
The beggars going from gate to gate,
The horses striving with their loads,
And all the sights upon the roads.

I'd live my lone without clan nor care,
And none around me to crave a share:
The young have mocking, impudent ways,
And I'd never let them a-nigh my place,
And a child has often a pitiful face.
I'd give the rambling fiddler rest,
And for me he would play his best,
And he'd have something to tell of me
From the Moat of Granard down to the sea!
And, though I'd keep distant, I'd let in

Oul' women who would card and spin,
And clash with me, and I'd hear it said,
'Mor, who used to carry her head
As if she was a lady bred,
Has little enough in her house, they say;
And such a one's child I saw on the way
Scaring crows from a crop, and glad to get
In a warmer house, the bit to eat
Oh, none are safe and none secure,
And it's well for some whose bit is sure!'

I'd never grudge them the weight of their lands
If I had only the good red gold
To huggle between my breast and my hands!

poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The house she refers to

She first told me of this house when I was a child
She wrote it in her documents and filed
A house so wild
Where the people are very cold
A house like a wrestling hold
Everyone scrambling for gold
There are murmurs and calls for hate
Which spreads amongst the offspring they procreate
To go and lie in wait
Until they receive orders to fire
At anyone who aims higher
So that they get what they require
She documents a house of takers
Wanting to acquire acres
Which they are not the makers
She documents a house of doom
Where deception is a costume
And aversion is spread from a control room
She documents a house of pain
Where there is nothing to gain
And says to me again and again
Beware and tread with care
For there are fumes of hate in the air
This she makes me aware
She tells me of this house each day
So I would not be lead astray
What then can I say
Before the bee stings
I would pray for certain things
One is for God to carry me on a pair of wings
To fly me on a fast pace
To a new place
Where He would put a smile on my face
A place of joy and peace

poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Bachelor

The wind went cold as the day went old,
And I went very sad,
Till I saw something by the road
That brought me round and glad.

The keen wind nipped me northerly
And bent me back almost,
And I was the worst discouraged man
Abroad on any boast,

The road was rocks and wilderness
And never a sign of a town,
It tapered up a wicked hill,
I tried to curse it down,

But like an undefeated man
I mounted, slow and hard:
And round the top was a little house
With a woman in the yard.

She was a housewife in her yard,
Tending her husband's place;
The broom was busy in her hand,
The goodness in her face.

She brushed the yard, she brushed the step,
She made the leaves to spin,
Tidying up her husband's place
Outside as well as in.

I knew no woman and no house
And night was just ahead;
Yet I went cheerful down the hill
Rested and warmed and fed.

For some man had a woman there
To keep his board and bed;
'I have seen women by these bad roads,
Thank God for that,' I said.

poem by John Crowe Ransom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Mother's Soul

When the moon was horned the mother died,
And the child pulled at her hand and knee,
And he rubbed her cheek and loudly cried:
'O mother, arise, give bread to me!'
But the pine tree bent its head,
And the wind at the door-post said:
'O child, thy mother is dead !'
The sun set his loom to weave the day;
The frost bit sharp like a silent cur;
The child by her pillow paused in his play:
'Mother, build up the sweet fire of fir !'
But the fir tree shook its cones,
And loud cried the pitiful stones:
'Wolf Death has thy mother's bones!'

They bore the mother out on her bier;
Their tears made warm her breast and shroud;
The smiling child at her head stood near;
And the long, white tapers shook and bowed,
And said with their tongues of gold,
To the ice lumps of the grave mold:
'How heavy are ye and cold!'

They buried the mother; to the feast
They flocked with the beaks of unclean crows.
The wind came up from the red-eyed east
And bore in its arms the chill, soft snows.
They said to each other: 'Sere
Are the hearts the mother held dear;
Forgotten, her babe plays here!'

The child with the tender snowflakes played,
And the wind on its fingers twined his hair;
And still by the tall, brown grave he stayed,
Alone in the churchyard lean and bare.
The sods on the high grave cried
To the mother's white breast inside:
'Lie still; in thy deep rest bide!'

Her breast lay still like a long-chilled stone,
Her soul was out on the bleak, grey day;
She saw her child by the grave alone,
With the sods and snow and wind at play.
Said the sharp lips of the rush,
'Red as thy roses,O bush,
With anger the dead can blush !'

A butterfly to the child's breast flew,*
Fluttered its wings on his sweet, round cheek,
Danced by his fingers, small, cold and blue.
The sun strode down past the mountain peak.
The butterfly whispered low
To the child: 'Babe, follow me; know,
Cold is the earth here below.'

The butterfly flew; followed the child,
Lured by the snowy torch of its wings;
The wind sighed after them soft and wild
Till the stars wedded night with golden rings
Till the frost upreared its head,
And the ground to it groaned and said:
'The feet of the child are lead!'

The child's head drooped to the brown, sere mold,
On the crackling cones his white breast lay;
The butterfly touched the locks of gold,
The soul of the child sprang from its clay.
The moon to the pine tree stole,
And silver-lipped, said to its bole:
'How strong is the mother's soul !'

The wings of the butterfly grew out
To the mother's arms, long, soft and white;
She folded them warm her babe about,
She kissed his lips into berries bright,
She warmed his soul on her breast;
And the east called out to the west:
'Now the mother's soul will rest!'

Under the roof where the burial feast
Was heavy with meat and red with wine,
Each crossed himself as out of the east
A strange wind swept over oak and pine.
The trees to the home-roof said:
' 'Tis but the airy rush and tread
Of angels greeting thy dead.'

poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

A Smile On Your Face

Put a smile on your face and be glad always,
But this message is for the child who hasn't eaten for days;
Let me see the smile on your face always,
Because this parcel is for the woman who was at the gate last night;
For she opened the gate for us and we went in to meet the madam of the house,
And this is also for the victims of war all over the globe.

Some people are hated in this world and other are being loved,
But put a smile on your face and be glad always;
For this parcel is for the lady whom i met at the gate,
And of the care of others in this world as well.

There are orphans everywhere in the world!
So put a smile on your face to express your muse;
For the flood victims have no shelter as at now,
And we need to help them too.

Anything can occur in this world at anytime,
For nature is not in out hands to control;
And like the suffering of the people all over the globe.

Of poetry, of love and peace, of the care of all mankind!
The truth is always he truth;
And like the living creatures in the waters,
But all the birds will fly up high to take a view on us.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Wild Montana Skies

This song appears on nine albums, and was first released on the its about time album, and has also been released on the greatest hits vol 3, changes, the very best of john denver (double cd),
Ry classics, the country roads collection and the rocky mountain collection albums. a live version also appears on the wildlife concert and the best of john denver live albums.
He was born in the bitterroot valley in the early morning rain
Wild geese over the water headin north and home again
Bringin a warm wind from the south
Bringin the first taste of the spring
His mother took him to her breast and softly she did sing
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
His mother died that summer and he never learned to cry
He never knew his father and he never did ask why
He never knew the answers that would make an easy way
But he learned to know the wilderness and to be a man that way
His mothers brother took him in to family and his home
Gave him a hand that he could lean on and a strength to call his own
And he learned to be a farmer and he learned to love the land
And he learned to read the seasons and he learned to make a stand
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
On the eve of his 21st birthday he set out on his own
He was 30 years and runnin when he found his way back home
Ridin a storm across the mountains and an aching in his heart
Said he came to turn the pages and to make a brand new start
Now he never told a story of the time that he was gone
Some say he was a lawyer, some say he was a john
There was somethin in the city that he said he couldnt breathe
And there was somethin in the country that he said he couldnt leave
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
Now some say he was crazy and theyre glad that he is gone
But some of us miss him and well try to carry on
Giving a voice to the forest, giving a voice to the dawn
Giving a voice to the wilderness and the land that he lived on
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
Oh montana, give this child a home
Give him the love of a good family and a woman of his own
Give him a fire in his heart, give him a light in his eyes
Give him the wild wind for a brother and the wild montana skies
Words and music by john denver

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

The Fires

Men make them fires on the hearth
Each under his roof-tree,
And the Four Winds that rule the earth
They blow the smoke to me.

Across the high hills and the sea
And all the changeful skies,
The Four Winds blow the smoke to me
Till the tears are in my eyes.

Until the tears are in my eyes.
And my heart is wellnigh broke
For thinking on old memories
That gather in the smoke.

With every shift of every wind
The homesick memories come,
From every quarter of mankind
Where I have made me a home.

Four times a fire against the cold
And a roof against the rain --
Sorrow fourfold and joy fourfold
The Four Winds bring again!

How can I answer which is best
Of all the fires that burn?
I have been too often host or guest
At every fire in turn.

How can I turn from any fire,
On any man's hearthstone?
I know the wonder and desire
That went to build my own!

How can I doubt man's joy or woe
Where'er his house-fires shine.
Since all that man must undergo
Will visit me at mine?

Oh, you Four Winds that blow so strong
And know that his is true,
Stoop for a little and carry my song
To all the men I knew!

Where there are fires against the cold,
Or roofs against the rain --
With love fourfold and joy fourfold,
Take them my songs again!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

You Don't Care, You Can't Care

It's dark, dank and dreary
The Wind is cold and uncomforting
But I am just another Raindrop
That lands on your Leaves,
You stand rooted to the ground
Not even the Wind moves you
And the Rain touches you.

As I land on your Leaf,
Trying to retain, to remain there
Just for a second, to be a part of you;
The Wind blows me away 'whoosh'
And I am gone.
But you don't look back,
The Roots tell you 'no' as the
Wind continues to blow...

Lying on the ground, looking
Back up at what could have been
You stand there, alone, the
Wind howling, the Rain falling,
And you don't care,
You can't care. Is it the
Wind or the Rain? Or are you just too vain?

Strangely, stupidly, sadly; I
Give you another chance, I try
To talk to you, but you let the
Wind shake your Leaves, the
Rain fall on you, you watch
those Raindrops slide off you
Each and every one falls to the earth
You don't care, You can't care.

poem by E.D. French
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Any Woman

I am the pillars of the house;
The keystone of the arch am I.
Take me away, and roof and wall
Would fall to ruin me utterly.

I am the fire upon the hearth,
I am the light of the good sun,
I am the heat that warms the earth,
Which else were colder than a stone.

At me the children warm their hands;
I am their light of love alive.
Without me cold the hearthstone stands,
Nor could the precious children thrive.

I am the twist that holds together
The children in its sacred ring,
Their knot of love, from whose close tether
No lost child goes a-wandering.

I am the house from floor to roof,
I deck the walls, the board I spread;
I spin the curtains, warp and woof,
And shake the down to be their bed.

I am their wall against all danger,
Their door against the wind and snow,
Thou Whom a woman laid in a manger,
Take me not till the children grow!

poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Old House in the Glen

Winter has come and the wind and the rain
Wash over the house in the glen.
It cradles itself as if it were cold
For no one still lives within.

The years have passed over it, leaving it aged
And empty, and lost, without heart,
With no one to live there, no one to care
And the leaves are piled up on the hearth.

If you stand in the doorway, you can feel
Soft music that hangs in the air,
Like the soul of the house that ever lives on
Though there’s no longer any to hear.

The door is now gone, the windows un-paned,
The wood on the roof has gone slack.
But it still lingers on, as if waiting for
The people it loved to come back.

The old house listens, and waits, and sings
As the wind blows in through the door
And the beat of the heart of the house still sounds
Like the tread of their feet on the floor.

poem by Kate Wiley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Pleading

I'm knocking at your gate again
Open up
Won't you let me in?
I'm standing
Waiting
Watching to see some recognition please.
Yes
It really is me.
Open up.
Won't you let me in?
I waited for you
Let the years pass by
I listened to hear
The
'It's all right.'
I'm knocking at your gate again
Bloody knuckles
Scraped skin.
Panic is gaining hold on me
Please
I whisper
Let me in.
I taste tears..
Who is crying and why?
My vision is blurred
There is stinging in my eyes.
I'm knocking at your gate again.
Waiting
For the gusty wind to carry me away
From this lonesome place.
I'm knocking at your gate again.
Why won't you answer?
Why won't you let me in?
I'm walking down the path again
Away from you,
Away from this thing..
Whatever binds us
Will eventually break.
The threads will give way
Perhaps then
I will have found my escape.
No shelter here
Nothing secure
you don't even bother to peak
Through the curtains anymore.
I'm leaving you,
battered and bruised,
To a new place
A better home
Somewhere safe.

poem by Rabia Minhas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Sea Is Very Calm This Morning

the sea is very calm this morning
the talisay leaves are not disturbed by the breeze
my mama is sitting on a bench
combing her long hair
saying nothing
under a tree
beside our little nipa hut
facing the horizon

on the other side is a big house
whose iron gate is painted red
a big man comes out
rushing as though
he is chasing someone
holding a stick on his hand
shouting at the child
playing with my small brother
inside the yard
of our house

the child of that man is frightened
and runs as fast as he can
back to their house
his father catches him
beating his legs
with the stick on his
right hand

i can still hear the cry of that frightened child
from the very beating of his own papa

what a mess!

i could have told you once again about the peace
and the calm and the quiet of the sea on a morning like this
but it is not true anymore

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The wind of life

Everything has been taken down
everyone has up and left
gone, like the wind, taking leaves to another place
not necessarily better, but not the same as before
it's like the wind, an external force, is changing
all the leaves know against there own will
two paths to take, the choice at hand
embrace transition or live in your
memories, beautiful, so beautiful
memories, the times of your life
but memories, like a flytrap, like a cobra
lie in wait, appearance oh so memorizing
retreat to them, your memories, and you'll be eaten alive
by the shifting times, the wind
the external force causing constant change
but like a house, built on stone
my love for you will never fall
never bend, no never break
the wind will never move that house
so let the wind have its way
blow me away, blow you away
one thing remains, oh it will never change

poem by Dov Doviak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The way it goes. (BY A 12 YEAR OLD)

The wind in your hair,
the wind in your face, the wind in your toes,
the wind up in space.

The wind down below,
or even up higher.
as cold as ice,
or as hot as fire.

When the wind tieds down,
the grass stops moving.
The trees are still,
and grandma starts snoring.

The day comes to night,
The sun turns to moon.
Then I have to wait,
till morning to use a spoon.

Good night my child,
now, you rest up good!
for now you'll be sleeping,
aswell as the neighborhood.

So as you sleep,
I'll continue to sing.
and when the day comes
you'll get the chance,
to sing to your kids, my love.

poem by Braylyn Thomasson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Flight

Voices out of the shade that cried,
And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
And country eyes, and quiet faces -
All these were round my steady paces.

Those that I could have loved went by me;
Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;
I heard the whisper of water nigh me,
Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were gone
In the green and gold. And I went on.

For if my echoing footfall slept,
Soon a far whispering there'd be
Of a little lonely wind that crept
From tree to tree, and distantly
Followed me, followed me. . . .

But the blue vaporous end of day
Brought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,
Where between pine-woods dipped the way.
I turned, slipped in and out of sight.
I trod as quiet as the night.

The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;
And in the boughs wind never swirled.
I found a flowering lowly bush,
And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,
Hidden at rest from all the world.

Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!
Yet - with cold heart and cold wet brows
I lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grew
Meward a sound of shaken boughs;
And ceased, above my intricate house;

And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .
I felt the unfaltering movement creep
Among the leaves. They shed around me
Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;
And stroked my face. I fell asleep.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1910)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!

Flight

Voices out of the shade that cried,
And long noon in the hot calm places,
And children's play by the wayside,
And country eyes, and quiet faces -
All these were round my steady paces.

Those that I could have loved went by me;
Cool gardened homes slept in the sun;
I heard the whisper of water nigh me,
Saw hands that beckoned, shone, were gone
In the green and gold. And I went on.

For if my echoing footfall slept,
Soon a far whispering there'd be
Of a little lonely wind that crept
From tree to tree, and distantly
Followed me, followed me. . . .

But the blue vaporous end of day
Brought peace, and pursuit baffled quite,
Where between pine-woods dipped the way.
I turned, slipped in and out of sight.
I trod as quiet as the night.

The pine-boles kept perpetual hush;
And in the boughs wind never swirled.
I found a flowering lowly bush,
And bowed, slid in, and sighed and curled,
Hidden at rest from all the world.

Safe! I was safe, and glad, I knew!
Yet - with cold heart and cold wet brows
I lay. And the dark fell. . . . There grew
Meward a sound of shaken boughs;
And ceased, above my intricate house;

And silence, silence, silence found me. . . .
I felt the unfaltering movement creep
Among the leaves. They shed around me
Calm clouds of scent, that I did weep;
And stroked my face. I fell asleep.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1919)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!

The Shepherd Boy

WHEN the red moon hangs over the fold,
And the cypress shadow is rimmed with gold,
O little sheep, I have laid me low,
My face against the old earth's face,
Where one by one the white moths go,
And the brown bee has his sleeping place.
And then I have whispered, Mother, hear,
For the owls are awake and the night is near,
And whether I lay me near or far
No lip shall kiss me,
No eye shall miss me,
Saving the eye of a cold white star.

And the old brown woman answers mild,
Rest you safe on my heart, O child.
Many a shepherd, many a king,
I fold them safe from their sorrowing.
Gwenever's heart is bound with dust,
Tristram dreams of the dappled doe,
But the bugle moulders, the blade is rust;
Stilled are the trumpets of Jericho,
And the tired men sleep by the walls of Troy.

Little and lonely,
Knowing me only,
Shall I not comfort you, shepherd-boy?

When the wind wakes in the apple-tree,
And the shy hare feeds on the wild fern stem,
I say my prayers to the Trinity,–
The prayers that are three and the charms that are seven
To the angels guarding the towers of heaven,–
And I lay my head on her raiment's hem,
Where the young grass darkens the strawberry star,
Where the iris buds and the bellworts are.
All night I hear her breath go by
Under the arch of the empty sky.
All night her heart beats under my head,
And I lie as still as the ancient dead,
Warm as the young lambs there with the sheep.
I and no other
Close to my Mother,
Fold my hands in her hands, and sleep.

poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

My Little Cabane

I'm sittin' to-night on maleetle ca-
bane, more happier dan de king,
An' ev'ry corner 's singin' out wit'
musique de ole stove sing
I hear de cry of de winter win', for de storm-
gate 's open wide
But I don't care not'ing for win'or storm, so
long I was safe inside.

Viens 'ci, mon chien, put your head on dere,
let your nose res' on ma knee-
You 'member de tam we chase de moose back
on de Lac Souris
An' de snow come down an' we los' ourse'f
till mornin' is bring de light,
You t'ink we got place to sleep, mon chien,
lak de place we got here to-night

Onder de roof of de leetle cabane, w'ere fire
she's blazin' high
An' bed I mak' of de spruce tree branch, is lie
on de floor close by,
O! I lak de smell of dat nice fresh bed, an' I
dream of de summer tam
An' de spot w'ere de beeg trout jomp so
moche down by de lumber dam.

But lissen dat win', how she scream outside,
mak me t'ink of de loup garou,
W'y to-night, mon chien, I be feelin' glad if
even de carcajou
Don't ketch hese'f on de trap I set to-day on
de Lac Souris
Let heem wait tili to-morrow, an' den if he
lak, I geev heem good chance, sapree!

I see beeg cloud w'en I'm out to-day, off on
de nor'-eas' sky,
An' she block de road, so de cloud behin',
don't get a chance passin' by,
An' I t'ink of boom on de grande riviere, w'en
log 's fillin' up de bay,
Wall! sam' as de boom on de spring-tam
flood, dat cloud she was sweep away.

Dem log 's very nice an' quiet, so long as de
boom 's all right,
But soon as de boom geev way, l'enfant! it's
den is begin de fight.
Dey run de rapide, an' jomp de rock', dey leap
on de air an' dive,
Can hear dem roar from de reever shore, jus'
lak dey was all alive.

An' dat was de way wit' de cloud to-day, de
res' of dem push aside,
For dey 're comin' fas' from de cole nor'-eas'
an' away t'roo de sky dey ride
Shakin' de snow as along dey go, lak grain
from de farmer's han'
Till to-morrow you can't see not'ing at all, but
smoke of de leetle cabane.

I'm glad we don't got no chimley, only hole
on de roof up dere,
An'spark fly off on w'ole of de worl', so dere 's
no use gettin' scare,
Mus' get more log! an' it's lucky too, de wood
pile is stannin' near
So blow away storm, for harder you go, de
warmer she's comin' here-

I wonder how dey get on, mon chien, off on de
great beeg town,
W'ere house is so high, near touch de sky,
mus' be danger of fallin' down.
An' worser too on de night lak dis, ketchin'
dat terrible win',
O! leetle small place lak de ole cabane was de
right place for stayin' in.

I s'pose dey got plaintee bodder too, dem
feller dat's be riche man,
For dey 're never knowin' w'en t'ief may come
an' steal all de t'ing he can
An' de monee was kip dem busy too, watchin'
it night an' day,
Dunno but we're better off here, mon chien,
wit' beeg city far away.

For I look on de corner over dere, an' see it
ma birch canoe,
I look on de wall w'ere ma rifle hang along wit'
de good snowshoe,
An' ev'ry t'ing else on de worl' I got, safe on
dis place near me.
An' here you are too, ma brave ole dog, wit'
your nose up agen ma knee.

An' here we be stay t'roo de summer day,
w'en ev'ry t'ing 's warm an' bright
On winter too w'en de stormy win' blow lak
she blow to-night
Let dem stay on de city, on great beeg house,
dem feller dat 's be riche man
For we're happy an' satisfy here, mon chien,
on our own leetle small cabane.

poem by William Henry Drummond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

The Piper On The Hills

A CHILD'S SONG
There sits a piper on the hill
Who pipes the livelong day,
And when he pipes both loud and shrill,
The frightened people say
‘The wind, the wind is blowing up,
'Tis rising to a gale.’
The women hurry to the shore
To watch some distant sail.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Is blowing to a gale.
But when he pipes all sweet and low,
The piper on the hill,
I hear the merry women go
With laughter, loud and shrill
‘The wind, the wind is coming south,
'Twill blow a gentle day.’
They gather on the meadow-land,
To toss the yellow hay.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Is blowing south to-day.

And in the morn, when winter comes,
To keep the piper warm,
The little Angels shake their wings
To make a feather storm
‘The snow, the snow has come at last!’
The happy children call,
And ‘ring around’ they dance in glee,
And watch the snowflakes fall.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
Has spread a snowy pall.
But when at night the piper plays,
I have not any fear,
Because God's windows open wide
The pretty tune to hear;
And when each crowding spirit looks,
From its star window-pane,
A watching mother may behold
Her little child again.
The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind,
May blow her home again.

poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

You Might Die Trying

I'll walk halfway around the world
To change the world
Just to sit down by your side
Starts with one step
And I would do most anything, girl
How ever small
To be the apple of your eye
First step is hardest of all
Well troubles, they may come and go
Once you get your gauge
But good times, they're the gold
You'll be walking tall
And if the road gets rocky, girl
You said you never did
Just steady as we go
Cause you might die trying
Any place you wanna go
Cause you might die trying
Know I'll be next to you
Cause you
If it's treasure, baby, you're looking for
I'll search the whole world through
If you close your eyes
I know troubles, they may come and go
Cause the house is on fire
But good times, they're the gold
And think you couldn't move
So if the road gets rocky, girl
Until the fire dies
Just steady as we go
The things you never did
When the storm comes down you shelter me
Cause you might die trying
When I don't say a word and you know exactly what i mean
Cause you might die trying
In the darkest times, oh, you shine on me
You'd be as good as dead
You set me free and keep me steady as we go
Cause you might die trying
So if your heart wrings dry, my love
Cause you might die trying
I will fill your cup
And if your load gets heavy, girl
If you give
I will lift you up
you begin to live
Well troubles, they may come and go
if you give
But good times be the gold
begin to live
So if the road gets rocky, girl
you begin
Just steady as we go
you get the world
If you give you begin to live
Shine, shine, shine
you get the world
shine on me
If you give you begin to live
You might die trying
You might die trying
You might die trying
The things you never did
Cause you might die trying
You'd be as good as dead
The things you never did

song performed by by Dave Matthews Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Old Woman of the Roads

O, to have a little house!
To own the hearth and stool and all!
The heaped up sods against the fire,
The pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains
And pendulum swinging up and down!
A dresser filled with shining delph,
Speckled and white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day
Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,
And fixing on their shelf again
My white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night
Beside the fire and by myself,
Sure of a bed and loth to leave
The ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark,
And roads where there's never a house nor bush,
And tired I am of bog and road,
And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high,
And I am praying Him night and day,
For a little house - a house of my own
Out of the wind's and the rain's way.

poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!