Good-Night
Then the bright lamp is carried in,
The sunless hours again begin;
O'er all without, in field and lane,
The haunted night returns again.
Now we behold the embers flee
About the firelit hearth; and see
Our faces painted as we pass,
Like pictures, on the window glass.
Must we to bed indeed? Well then,
Let us arise and go like men,
And face with an undaunted tread
The long black passage up to bed.
Farewell, O brother, sister, sire!
O pleasant party round the fire!
The songs you sing, the tales you tell,
Till far to-morrow, fare you well!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 3. Finale
These are the tales those merry guests
Told to each other, well or ill;
Like summer birds that lift their crests
Above the borders of their nests
And twitter, and again are still.
These are the tales, or new or old,
In idle moments idly told;
Flowers of the field with petals thin,
Lilies that neither toil nor spin,
And tufts of wayside weeds and gorse
Hung in the parlor of the inn
Beneath the sign of the Red Horse.
And still, reluctant to retire,
The friends sat talking by the fire
And watched the smouldering embers burn
To ashes, and flash up again
Into a momentary glow,
Lingering like them when forced to go,
And going when they would remain;
For on the morrow they must turn
Their faces homeward, and the pain
Of parting touched with its unrest
A tender nerve in every breast.
But sleep at last the victory won;
They must be stirring with the sun,
And drowsily good night they said,
And went still gossiping to bed,
And left the parlor wrapped in gloom,
The only live thing in the room
Was the old clock, that in its pace
Kept time with the revolving spheres
And constellations in their flight,
And struck with its uplifted mace
The dark, unconscious hours of night,
To senseless and unlistening ears.
Uprose the sun; and every guest,
Uprisen, was soon equipped and dressed
For journeying home and city-ward;
The old stage-coach was at the door,
With horses harnessed, long before
The sunshine reached the withered sward
Beneath the oaks, whose branches hoar
Murmured: ?Farewell forevermore.?
?Farewell!? the portly Landlord cried;
?Farewell!? the parting guests replied,
But little thought that nevermore
Their feet would pass that thershold o?er;
That nevermore together there
Would they assemble, free from care,
To hear the oaks? mysterious roar,
And breathe the wholesome country air.
Where are they now? What lands and skies
Paint pictures in their friendly eyes?
What hope deludes, what promise cheers,
What pleasant voices fill their ears?
Two are beyond the salt sea waves,
And three already in their graves.
Perchance the living still may look
Into the pages of this book,
And see the days of long ago
Floating and fleeting to and fro,
As in the well-remembered brook
They saw the inverted landscape gleam,
And their own faces like a dream
Look up upon them from below.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Wood-Cutter's Night Song
Welcome, red and roundy sun,
Dropping lowly in the west;
Now my hard day's work is done,
I'm as happy as the best.
Joyful are the thoughts of home,
Now I'm ready for my chair,
So, till morrow-morning's come,
Bill and mittens, lie ye there!
Though to leave your pretty song,
Little birds, it gives me pain,
Yet to-morrow is not long,
Then I'm with you all again.
If I stop, and stand about,
Well I know how things will be,
Judy will be looking out
Every now-and-then for me.
So fare ye well! and hold your tongues,
Sing no more until I come;
They're not worthy of your songs
That never care to drop a crumb.
All day long I love the oaks,
But, at nights, yon little cot,
Where I see the chimney smokes,
Is by far the prettiest spot.
Wife and children all are there,
To revive with pleasant looks,
Table ready set, and chair,
Supper hanging on the hooks.
Soon as ever I get in,
When my faggot down I fling,
Little prattlers they begin
Teasing me to talk and sing.
Welcome, red and roundy sun,
Dropping lowly in the west;
Now my hard day's work is done,
I'm as happy as the best.
Joyful are the thoughts of home,
Now I'm ready for my chair,
So, till morrow-morning's come,
Bill and mittens, lie ye there!
poem by John Clare
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The Land of Story-Books
At evening when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.
Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,
And follow round the forest track
Away behind the sofa back.
There, in the night, where none can spy,
All in my hunter's camp I lie,
And play at books that I have read
Till it is time to go to bed.
These are the hills, these are the woods,
These are my starry solitudes;
And there the river by whose brink
The roaring lions come to drink.
I see the others far away
As if in firelit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.
So when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Let The Party Begin
Let the party begin
Come on let's sing this song
The day is over, it's party time
Forget your problems and drink a glas of wine
The celebration is happening tonight
Just feel the rhythm, till the morning light
Let's have fun all night long
I know you got the key
All together we're strong
A feeling wild and free
Let's have fun all night long
I know you got the key
Take my hand and come with me to wonderland
Let the party begin
We're dancing tonight
We're ready to go
And the feeling is right
Let the party begin
The music goes on
Come on let's sing this song
Let me say say say
It's summer holiday
We will sing together all night long
Let me say say say
Its summer holiday
Come on everybody sing this song
So let the music move your feet
Express your feelings, here's the magic beat
Come join the party, friends are everywhere
Ride on the rhythm, music's in the air
There's music in the air
Just feel it everywhere
This is the way to reach our soul
The rhythm takes control
song performed by by DJ Bobo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night and Day
I painted a picture of the day
Nature in her sweet tranquil
Her beauty was dazzling in every way
By her sun upon the hill!
I made her grasses the color green
Blue the color of the sea
In pink and red her flowers sheen
In brown, her rocks sit solitary
I painted a picture of the night
But nature has lost her spark
I colored her beauty in black and white
What glory is there in the dark?
I made her sky with dotted light
Of stars in their endless space
But there was no color to make her bright
But the moon with her golden face
I placed both pictures side by side
Media of dark and light
The night to nature, a time to hide
The day her sweet delight
Were i to vote between these two
I will give all to the day
I will paint in her a perfect view
I will have her all the way!
But wait! There is more than meet the eyes
For things are not all we see
For all stuffs are made of good and ills
Beyond our phylosophy
The day i painted with color bright
Is marred with worries and woes
And just a covering with colors and light
Of all beneath her throes.
Now, the night in her dreaded sight
When half the world is asleep
Is an illusion, a passage of day to night
Whereon i sleep free and deep
Free from all worldly pain indeed
That by day plagued every soul
And away from mortals lust and greed
Is a man's life long goal
I cannot choose one, the other bid farewell
In both, all things are one
So i kept the day, and the night as well
For both made me a man! !
poem by Okonkwo Osamedua. Allen
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Concert Party
(EGYPTIAN BASE CAMP)
They are gathering round....
Out of the twilight; over the grey-blue sand,
Shoals of low-jargoning men drift inward to the sound—
The jangle and throb of a piano ... tum-ti-tum...
Drawn by a lamp, they come
Out of the glimmering lines of their tents, over the shuffling sand.
O sing us the songs, the songs of our own land,
You warbling ladies in white.
Dimness conceals the hunger in our faces,
This wall of faces risen out of the night,
These eyes that keep their memories of the places
So long beyond their sight.
Jaded and gay, the ladies sing; and the chap in brown
Tilts his grey hat; jaunty and lean and pale,
He rattles the keys ... some actor-bloke from town...
God send you home; and then A long, long trail;
I hear you calling me; and Dixieland....
Sing slowly ... now the chorus ... one by one
We hear them, drink them; till the concert’s done.
Silent, I watch the shadowy mass of soldiers stand.
Silent, they drift away, over the glimmering sand.
Kantara, April 1918.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Sitting by the Fire
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh! the dying leaves,
Like a drizzling rain,
Falling round the roof -
Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days,
Trooping past the faded fire,
Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild
O'er the whistling Earth;
And we front a feeble flame,
Sitting round the hearth!
Sitting by the fire,
Watching in its glow,
Ghosts of other days
Trooping to and fro.
Oh, the nights - the nights we've spent,
Sitting by the fire,
Cheerful in its glow;
Twenty summers back -
Twenty years ago!
If the days were days of toil
Wherefore should we mourn;
There were shadows near the shine,
Flowers with the thorn?
And we still can recollect
Evenings spent in mirth -
Fragments of a broken life,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Cheerful in its glow,
Twenty summers back -
Twenty years ago.
Beauty stooped to bless us once,
Sitting by the fire,
Happy in its glow;
Forty summers back -
Forty years ago.
Words of love were interchanged,
Maiden hearts we stole;
And the light affection throws
Slept on every soul.
Oh, the hours went flying past -
Hours of priceless worth;
But we took no note of Time,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Happy in its glow,
Forty summers back -
Forty years ago.
Gleesome children were we not?
Sitting by the fire,
Ruddy in its glow,
Sixty summers back -
Sixty years ago.
Laughing voices filled the room;
Oh, the songs we sung,
When the evenings hurried by -
When our hearts were young!
Pleasant faces watched the flame -
Eyes illumed with mirth -
And we told some merry tales,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Ruddy in its glow,
Sixty summers back -
Sixty years ago.
Barren Age and withered World!
Oh, the dying leaves,
Like a drizzling rain,
Falling round the roof -
Pattering on the pane!
Frosty Age and cold, cold World!
Ghosts of other days,
Trooping past the faded fire,
Flit before the gaze.
Now the wind goes soughing wild
O'er the whistling Earth;
And we front a feeble flame,
Sitting round the hearth:
Sitting by the fire,
Watching, in its glow,
Ghosts of other days
Trooping to and fro!
poem by Henry Kendall
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Description of an Author's Bedchamber
WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champagne,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;
There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread:
The royal game of goose was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,
And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black face:
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire;
With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board;
A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night-a stocking all the day!
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Black And White
Long before you ever saw your chances
You were going to burn this city down
Tired of the fashions and the dances
Tired of the people standing around
Ticking like a bomb in the night
And you knew you were right
Black and white
Blame it on the time it took to leave here
Blame it on the ones who slowed you down
Blame it on the kind of friends you knew here
Blame it on the sickness going 'round
Going round and round in the night
With your heart out of sight
With your world burning bright
Like a moth 'round a light
Black and white
The pictures of a life in flames
Black and white
The picture of a life remains
And the search you half remember
Setting out on at the start
Is burning like an ember in your heart
Time running out time running out
For the fool still asking what his life is about
Time running out time running out
Time running out time running out
Yeah, beyond a shadow of a doubt
Time running out time running out
Tell them that you've gone to find a person
Someone you lost track of long ago
Tell them that it's someone you need worse than
Anybody else you'll ever know
Ticking like a bomb in the night
You were strong, you were light
You were fast, you were bright
Then you were gone in the light
Black and white
The pictures of a life in flames
Black and white
The picture of a life remains
And the high ideals and the promise
You once dressed the future in
Are dancing in the embers with the wind
Time running out time running out
For the fool still asking what his life is about
Time running out time running out
Time running out time running out
Yeah, beyond a shadow of a doubt
Time
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fare Thee Well
Fare thee well my bright star
I watched your taillights blaze into nothingness
But you were long gone before I ever got to you
Before you blazed past this address
And now I think of having loved and having lost
But never know what it feels like to never love
Who can say whats better when my hearts become the cost
A mere token of a brighter jewel sent from above
Fare thee well my bright star
The vanity of youth the color of your eyes
And maybe if Id fanned the blazing fire of your day-to-day
Or if Id been older Id been wise
Too thick the heat of those long summer evenings
For a cool evening I began to yearn
But you could only feed upon the things which feed a fire
Waiting to see if I would burn
Fare thee well my bright star
It was a brief brilliant miracle dive
That which I looked up to and I clung to for dear life
Had to burn itself up just to make itself alive
And I caught you then in your moment of glory
Your last dramatic scene against a night sky stage
With a moment so clear that its as if youre still before me
My once in a lifetime star of an age
So fare thee well my bright star
Last night the tongues of fire circled me around
And this strange season of pain will come to pass
When the healing hands of autumn cool me down
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Man's Farewell
Farewell, my pilgrim guest, farewell,
A few days since thou wert unknown,
None shall thy future fortunes tell,
But sweetly have the moments flown!
And kindness, like the sun on flowers,
Soon chas'd away thy tender gloom;
New-fledg'd the sable-pinion'd hours,
And wove bright tints in Fancy's loom.
We sought no secrets to divine,
Neither thy name nor lineage knew,
Our hearts alone have question'd thine,
And found that all was just and true.
Pass not with hasty step, I pray,
Across the threshold of my door!
But pause awhile, with kind delay,
We shall behold thy face no more!
Once only in a hundred years,
The aloe's precious blossoms swell,
So, in thy presence it appears,
That Time has blossom'd, fare thee well!
poem by Matilda Betham
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My Friend
MY Friend wears a cheerful smile of his own,
And a musical tongue has he;
We sit and look in each other's face,
And are very good company.
A heart he has, full warm and red
As ever a heart I see;
And as long as I keep true to him,
Why, he'll keep true to me.
When the wind blows high and the snow falls fast
And we hear the wassailers' roar--
My Friend and I, with a right good-will
We bolt the chamber door:
I smile at him and he smiles at me
In a dreamy calm profound,
Till his heart leaps up in the midst of him
With a comfortable sound.
His warm breath kisses my thin gray hair
And reddens my ashen cheeks;
He knows me better than you all know,
Though never a word he speaks:--
Knows me as well as some had known
Were things--not as things be.
But hey, what matters? my Friend and I
Are capital company.
At dead of night, when the house is still,
He opens his pictures fair;
Faces that are, that used to be,
And faces that never were:
My wife sits sewing beside my hearth,
My little ones frolic wild,
Though--Lilian's married these twenty years,
And I never had a child.
But hey, what matters? When those who laugh
May weep to-morrow, and they
Who weep be as those that wept not--all
Their tears long wiped away.
I shall burn out, like you, my Friend,
With a bright warm heart and bold,
That flickers up to the last--then drops
Into quiet ashes cold.
And when you flicker on me, old Friend,
In the old man's elbow-chair,
Or--something easier still, where we
Lie down, to arise up fair
And young, and happy--why then, my Friend,
Should other friends ask of me,
Tell them I lived and loved and died
In the best of all company.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Black & White
Long before you ever saw your chances
You were going to burn this city down
Tired of the fashions and the dances
Tired of the people standing around
Ticking like a bomb in the night
And you knew you were right
Black and white
Blame it on the time it took to leave here
Blame it on the ones who slowed you down
Blame it on the kind of friends you knew here
Blame it on the sickness going round
Going round and round in the night
With your heart out of sight
With your world burning bright
Like a moth round a light
Black and white
The pictures of a life in flames
Black and white
The picture of a life remains
And the search you half remember
Setting out on at the start
Is burning like an ember in your heart
Time running out time running out
For the fool still asking what his life is about
Time running out time running out
Time running out time running out
Yeah, beyond a shadow of a doubt
Time running out time running out
Tell them that youve gone to find a person
Someone you lost track of long ago
Tell them that its someone you need worse than
Anybody else youll ever know
Ticking like a bomb in the night
You were strong, you were light
You were fast, you were bright
Then you were gone in the light
Black and white
The pictures of a life in flames
Black and white
The picture of a life remains
And the high ideals and the promise
You once dressed the future in
Are dancing in the embers with the wind
Time running out time running out
For the fool still asking what his life is about
Time running out time running out
Time running out time running out
Yeah, beyond a shadow of a doubt
Time running out time running out
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Author's Bedchamber
DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER
WHERE the Red Lion flaring o'er the way,
Invites each passing stranger that can pay;
Where Calvert's butt, and Parsons' black champagne,
Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane;
There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,
The Muse found Scroggen stretch'd beneath a rug;
A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray,
That dimly show'd the state in which he lay;
The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread:
The royal game of goose was there in view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew;
The seasons, fram'd with listing, found a place,
And brave prince William show'd his lamp-black face:
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire
The rusty grate unconscious of a fire;
With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd,
And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board;
A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay,
A cap by night--a stocking all the day!
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paint It
I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes
I see a line of cars and they are painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a new born baby it just happens every day
I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door and its heading into black
Maybe then Ill fade away and not have to face the facts
Its not easy facing up when your whole world is black
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
I wanna see it painted painted, painted black, oh baby
No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes
I wanna see it painted, painted black, oh
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted from the sky
Painted, painted, painted black oh baby
Painted painted, painted black
song performed by by Vanessa Carlton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lament For Leaf Loss
Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the days are growing darker and the night lasts long
But listen for the flutter of each shrivelled tear
As it drops in golden leaf-fall of the fading, dying year.
Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the light is growing dimmer and the night lasts long
But listen for the echoes of the summer’s breeze
As it gossips with the branches of the leafless poplar trees.
Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the frost is growing grimmer and the night lasts long
But listen for the rustle of lost autumn leaves
And the crying of the dewdrops as the barren forest grieves.
Sing sad songs for the days that are gone
Now the mood is growing glummer and the night lasts long
But listen for the whispers of the coming spring
When the buds begin their bursting and the birds begin to sing.
Sing no more for the days that are gone
For the light will soon be stronger and the night less long
And listen to the rhythm of season’s song
As spring will soon be with us while the winter won’t be long.
poem by C. Richard Miles
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Burning Embers
Fly through the glass of a window pane
fall through the sky feeling the rain
Walk on broken glass your tell-tale heart
Look through the bars of a dirty jail cell
soar to heaven dive to hell
Listen to your tell-tale heart
Setting fires in the ghost twilight
we see you dress we bolt with fright
You see an apparition disappear
Jump to the table, jump up the stairs
stand on the rooftop, looking out through the air
Walk on broken glass your tell-tale heart
Lenore, am I dreaming
How can death keep us apart, mmmm..
Lenore, I see you burning
And I'd walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Heart
heart
Heart
heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
Walk on burning embers
walk on burning embers
Walk on burning embers your tell-tale heart
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell To Frances
Farewell! if ne'er I see thee more,
Though distant calls my flight impel,
I shall not less thy grace adore,
So friend, forever fare thee well.
Farewell! forever, did I say?
What, never more thy face to see?
Then take the last fond look to-day,
And still to-morrow think of me.
Farewell! alas, the tragic sound
Has many a tender bosom torn;
While desolation spread around,
Deserted friendship left to mourn.
Farewell! awakes the sleeping tear,
The dormant rill from sorrow's eye,
Express'd from one by nature dear,
Whose bosom heaves the latent sigh.
Farewell! is but departure's tale,
When fond association ends,
And fate expands her lofty sail,
To show the distant flight of friends.
Alas! and if we sure must part,
Far separated long to dwell,
I leave thee with a broken heart,
So friend, forever, fare thee well.
I leave thee, but forget thee never,
Words cannot my feeling tell,
'Fare thee well, and if forever,
Still forever fare thee well.'
poem by George Moses Horton
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Ships Of The Night
Poems pass
in the night also.
Port starboard lights
burn bright also.
Poems pass stirred
hear wave slap night gongs?
Have you not heard
their salty soft saline songs?
Poems pass plotted
in navigated narrows; of lapping passage night.
Have you not heard
their soft spoken saline songs; by glow of candle light?
Poems pass navigated
in natant night also.
Daily cares contested
at last laid low below.
Poems pass
in shadow seamed night.
Poems pass
in nuptial nocturnal night flight.
Has not herald heard
silver shimmering saline songs?
Poems pass like flight of bird
as eternal endless night sails on.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Song for Marty (A Tribute to Marty Robbins)
The cowboy poet
Still sings
His storied melodies ‘round a flickering fire
On the wide open range
Of the midnight sky.
And sometimes when the stars are out
You can hear his lilting voice
Carried on the wind…
He tells of roundups long ago
Bandits and outlaws
Rugged men who tamed the West
Places like Tombstone and Laredo
And the “west Texas town of El Paso”
Where young lovers bid farewell.
Farewell to you, old friend.
Farewell.
We’ll keep some coffee on the stove
And a warm place by the fire
And when you’re cold and feeling lonesome
From a long and dusty ride
Take off your boots and rest awhile
And sing a song or two.
(Previously published in Horsethief's Journal, Issue 6, Dec 1999)
poem by Laurence Overmire
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