The Voice And Viol
Rare is the voice itself: but when we sing
To th' lute or viol, then 'tis ravishing.
poem by Robert Herrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ravashing
When the sun is burning out
And the night is pouring in
Now is the time to run, run boy
Now is the time to hide
There's nobody out on the beach
There's nobody down in the woods
We're gonne do it alone
We're gonna do it outside -
And I can feel the air it's sticking to our skin so tight
And I can feel there's something in this air tonight --
-- I really got it bad
Tonight I really got it bad
Tonight I really got it bad
But it's still so good, so good
That I got it at all and it was
Ravishing, ravishing
And I love to see the moonlight
See it shimmer down my dress
It's so ravishing, ravishing
And the wind is like a finger
Tracing patterns on your chest
You're so ravishing
And I know
This is the season that we make our move
This is the season we've got something to prove
And this is the season I've got something to lose
Oh, it's now or it's never
So now and forever, we're
Ravishing, ravishing
Oh-wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing
Oh-wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing oh-wo-wo
It's all right
We'll be ravishing each other till the end of this endless night
It's all right, so right, it's all right, so right
And if an angel broke his wings
Would he come to you for parts
I need a couple of wings boy, boy
I need a reason to soar
And if the devil lost his fire
Could he count on you for sparks
There's something ws ought to try now
We ought to try it some more -
-- Than anything I ever wanted was to see the light
And there's e chance that we'll be glowing in the dark tonight -
I really got it bad
Tonight I really got it bad
I really got it bad
Tonight I rEally got it bad
But it still felt good -- so good --
--Just to get it at all, and it's so
Ravishing, ravishing
-And I can't believe the way the stars are shooting through your hair
You're so ravishing, ravishing
And it's just my luck tonight I don't have anything to wear
We're so ravishing
This is the season that we make our move
This is the season we've got something to prove
This is the season I've got something to lose
And all we ever really needed was
Ravishing, ravishing, Oh-wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing, Oh-wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing, oh-wo-wo
It's all right
We'll be ravishing each other till the end of this endless night
It's all right, so right, it's all right, so right
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ravishing
(jim steinman)
Producer for bonnie: jim steinman
When the sun is burning out
And the night is pouring in
Now is the time to run, run boy
Now is the time to hide
Theres nobody out on the beach
Theres nobody down in the woods
Were gonna do it alone
Were gonna do it outside
And I can feel the air its sticking to our skin so tight
And I can feel theres something in this air tonight-
-l really got it bad
Tonight I really got it bad
Tonight I really got it bad
But its still so good, so good
That I got it at all and it was
Ravishing, ravishing
And I love to see the moonlight
See it shimmer down my dress
Its so ravishing, ravishing
And the wind is like a finger
Tracing patterns on your chest
Youre so ravishing
And I know
This is the season that we make our move
This is the season weve got something to prove
And this is the season Ive got something to lose
Oh, its now or its never
So now and forever, were
Ravishing, ravishing
Oh-wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing
Oh-wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing oh-wo-wo
Its all right
Well be ravishing each other till the end of this endless night
Its all right, so right, its all right, so right
And if an angel broke his wings
Would he come to you for parts
I need a couple of wings boy, boy
I need a reason to soar
And if the devil lost his fire
Could he count on you for sparks
Theres something we ought to try now
We ought to try it some more-
-than anything I ever wanted was to see the light
And theres a chance that well be glowing in the dark tonight-
I really got it bad
Tonight really got it bad
I really got it bad
Tonight I really got it bad
But it still felt good - so good -
- just to get it at all, and its so
Ravishing, ravishing
-and I cant believe the way the stars are shooting through your hair
Youre so ravishing, ravishing
And its just my luck tonight I dont have anything to wear
Were so ravishing
This is the season that we make our move
This is the season weve got something to prove
This is the season Ive got something to lose
And all we ever really needed was
Ravishing, ravishing
Oh-wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing
Oh~wo-wo
Ravishing, ravishing oh-wo-wo
Its all right
Well be ravishing each other till the end of this endless night
Its all right, so right, its all right, so right
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Winter Darkening All Around
When winter covering all the ground
Hides every sign of Spring, sir.
However you may look around,
Pray what will then you sing, sir?
The Spring was here last year I know,
And many bards did flute, sir;
I shall not fear a little snow
Forbid me from my lute, sir.
If words grow dull and rhymes grow rare,
I'll sing of Spring's farewell, sir.
For every season steals an air,
Which has a Springtime smell, sir.
But if upon the other side,
With passionate longing burning,
Will seek the half unjeweled tide,
And sing of Spring's returning.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mama, sing for Me
Mama, sing for me...
Mama, sing for me
Your voice, is the melody to my ear
Your voice, is like the singing birds
When I feel down
Your voice, rise me up
Mama, sing for me
When life doesn't turns out to be right.
Mama, sing for me
One last time.
Your voice, put me to sleep
Your voice is
My soul
My life,
My spirits
When I hear you sing
There's no need to be fear
There's no need to be worried
I'm alive because of your voice
So, sing for me
Sing for me one last time.
Mama, sing for me
Let me hear your voice one last time
You can't go now mama
You were the path of my life
Come back to me
You can't go forever
Mama, sings for me one last time
That's all that i want
Mama, sing for me...
poem by Guenael Oristel
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Corinna
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear
As any challenged echo clear.
But when she doth of mourning speak,
Even with her sighs the strings do break.
And as her lute doth live or die;
Led by her passion, so must I.
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring;
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
Even from my heart the strings do break.
poem by Thomas Campion
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When to her Lute Corinna Sings
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear,
As any challenged echo clear;
But when she doth of mourning speak,
E'en with her sighs, the strings do break,
And as her lute doth live or die,
Led by her passion, so must I:
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring,
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
E'en from my heart the strings do break
poem by Thomas Campion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When you are accompanied by the instrument - on an instrument like the lute-the lute and voice - you have this sound, and you feel how the music can be so touching and yet so simple.
quote by Cecilia Bartoli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Lute Awake
My lute awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon;
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain.
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie wethered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told;
Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past:
My lute be still, for I have done.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Lute Awake
My lute awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon;
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain.
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie wethered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told;
Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past:
My lute be still, for I have done.
poem by David McKee Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Lute, Awake
My labor that thou and I shall waste
And end that I have now begun,
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon.
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts through love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain;
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain
Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie withered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told.
Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spnt
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute, this is the last
Labor that thou and I shall waste
And ended is that we begun.
Now is the song both sung and past;
My lute, be still, for I have done.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
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I Never Need
I NEVER NEED TO SEE THE PRETTY SUNSET AGAIN, BECAUSE OF YOUR RAVISHING SMILE.INEVER NEED TO SEE THE BEAUTY OF RAINBOW AGAIN, BECAUSE I HAVE SEEN A PIESE OF HEAVEN IN YOUR BEAUTY.INEVER NEED TO SEE TO SEE THE PEACE OF DOVE IN THE SKY AGAIN, BECAUSE OF YOUR OF THE PEACE YOU BROUTH TO MY HEART.I NEVER NEED TO SEE THE SUN AGAIN, BECAUSE YOUR EYES LIGHT UP MY WORLD.I NEVER NEED TOO SEE THE HAPPYNESS OF TREES AGAIN, BECAUSE OF THE HAPPINESS YOU BROUTH TO MY HEART.I NEVER NEED TOO SEE THE RARE DIAMOND AGAIN, BECAUSE YOU ARE A RARE GEM! ! !
poem by Tijani Adebowale Destiny
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To His Lute
MY lute, awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is said and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon:
Should we then sing, or sigh, or moan?
No, no, my lute! for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affectiòn;
So that I am past remedy:
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won;
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,
That makest but game of earnest pain:
Trow not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lover's plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
May chance thee lie wither'd and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon:
Thy wishes then dare not be told:
Care then who list! for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou has lost and spent
To cause thy lover's sigh and swoon:
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute! this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun:
Now is this song both sung and past--
My lute, be still, for I have done.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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El Lute
This is the story of el lute
A man who was born to be hunted like a wild animal
Because he was poor
But he refused to accept his fate
And today his honor has been restored
He was only nineteen
And he was sentenced to die
For something that somebody else did
And blamed on el lute
Then they changed it to life
And so he could escape
From then on they chased him
And searched for him day and night
All over spain
But the search was in vain for el lute
He had only seen the dark side of life
The man they called el lute
And he wanted a home just like you and like me
In a country where all would be free
So he taught himself to read and to write
It didnt help el lute
He was one who had dared to escape overnight
They had to find el lute
Soon the fame of his name
Spread like wild fire all over the land
With a price on his head
People still gave him bread
And they gave him a hand
For they knew he was right
And his fight was their fight
No one gave you a chance
In the spain of those days
On the walls every place they had put up
The face of el lute
And he robbed where he could just like once robin hood
They finally caught him and
That seemed the end
But they caught him in vain
Cause a change came for spain
And el lute
He had only seen the dark side of life
The man they called el lute
And he wanted a home just like you and like me
In a country where all would be free
And then freedom really came to his land
And also to el lute
Now he walks in the light of a sunny new day
The man they called el lute
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Hymn To The Muses
Honour to you who sit
Near to the well of wit,
And drink your fill of it!
Glory and worship be
To you, sweet Maids, thrice three,
Who still inspire me;
And teach me how to sing
Unto the lyric string,
My measures ravishing!
Then, while I sing your praise,
My priest-hood crown with bays
Green to the end of days!
poem by Robert Herrick
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Wind Child
The Wind has a voice,
A sad, sweet voice
I've heard it sing
Long and beautiful
Like Wind should be,
Carrying forever
The singing Wind is rarely heard
It's quiet and soft and
Unnoticeable
I am a Wind Child
I hear the Wind as
She sings her sad, sweet song
I am a Wind Child
And I sing with the Wind
Wind Children are rare as
True Hope
Special as Love
Wind Child
Is me
poem by Sahar Alive
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Psalm CXLVIII
Come, oh! come, with sacred lays,
Let us sound th' Almighty's praise;
Hither bring in true concent,
Heart, and voice, and instrument.
Let the orpharion sweet,
With the harp and viol meet:
To your voices tune the lute:
Let not tongue nor string be mute;
Nor a creature dumb be found,
That hath cither voice or sound.
Let such things as do not live,
In still music praises give:
Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep
On the earth or in the deep;
Loud aloft your voices strain,
Beasts and monsters of the main,
Birds, your warbling treble sing;
Clouds, your peals of thunder ring;
Sun and moon exalted higher,
And you, stars, augment the choir.
Come, ye sons of human race,
In this chorus take your place,
And amid this mortal throng,
Be you masters of the song.
Angels and celestial powers,
Be the noblest tenor yours.
Let, in praise of God, the sound
Run a never-ending round;
That our holy hymn may be
Everlasting, as is He.
From the earth's vast hollow womb,
Music's deepest bass shall come.
Sea and floods, from shore to shore,
Shall the counter-tenor roar.
To this concert, when we sing,
Whistling winds, your descant bring:
Which may bear the sound above,
Where the orb of fire doth move;
And so climb from sphere to sphere,
Till our song th' Almighty hear.
So shall He from heaven's high tower
On the earth His blessing shower;
All this huge wide orb we see,
Shall one choir, one temple be;
There our voices we will rear,
Till we fill it everywhere:
And enforce the fiends that dwell
In the air to sink to hell.
Then, oh! come, with sacred lays,
Let us sound th' Almighty's praise.
poem by George Wither
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Little Voice
A little voice sings
To the smiles in the room
While admiring eyes look on
Each with a particular pride
To have seen this voice grow
Is a memory to share, cherish
Little voice sing on
Grow, blossom and flower
Fill the air with your song
The deft notes play to the ear
And the heart is dancing
Little voice sing on
The room will fill with smiles
While all eyes look on
At the one they have come to know
The one who has grown and flowered
The little voice who sings
Little voice sing on
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Rare Friend
I will be your rare friend;
Spend many hours meditating on your success.
I will be your rare friend;
Be there for you when you are not at your best.
I will be your rare friend;
One who will take you home when your legs tire.
I will be your rare friend;
And will be beside you when go through the fire.
I will be your rare friend;
When others abandon you and laugh at you.
I will be your rare friend;
Not caring the color of your skin or what you do.
I will be your rare friend;
I will be your rare friend because its true, I am you.
poem by Saint Eule
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Singing My Songs
Now when I sing my voice is shaky,
shaky beyond repair.
But inside I hear a voice that's achy,
achy from years of wear.
But I sing regardless of the voice
because I must, my dear.
And as I do I compose myself
so as not to cry a tear.
For the songs are solace for my heart
and were written to be heard.
I can't remember what came first,
the melody or the word?
But what does it matter the order of things
as long as the song takes form?
I sing it with my shaky voice
and the feeling I get is warm.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Rare Meat.
Rare meat.
The blackbird seem to sing.
And though I spluttered
'I am vegetarian'
Rare Meat, rare meat!
And my neighbour
Talked of the importance of
'Being in harness again'
Then I realised,
The bird was much nearer to understanding
The kind of species I am!
Rare meat!
And cannon fodder for the cowboys
And manipulators,
All the same!
For my heart
Will always stray to the unheard tune.
And the song of the bird,
Comforted the taut nerves
Of a weary owl.
Who`s been round the clock,
But still does not like the carousel!
poem by Peter Vealey
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