Post Office Romance
The lady at the corner wicket
Sold me a stamp, I stooped to lick it,
And on the envelope to stick it;
A spinster lacking girlish grace,
Yet sweetly sensitive, her face
Seemed to en-star that stodgy place.
Said I: "I've come from o'er the sea
To ask you if you'll marry me -
That is to say, if you are free.
I see your gentle features freeze;
'I do not like such jokes as these,'
You seem to say . . . Have patience, please.
I saw you twenty years ago;
Just here you sold me stamps, and Oh
Your image seemed to haunt me so.
For you were lovely as a rose,
But I was poor, and I suppose
At me you tilted dainty nose.
Ah, well I knew love could not be,
So sought my fortune o'er the sea,
Deeming that you were lost to me.
Of sailing ships a mate was I,
From oriental ports to ply . . .
Ten years went past of foreign sky.
But always in the starry night
I steered my course with you in sight,
My dream of you a beacon light.
Then after a decade had sped
I cam again: 'What luck? I said,
'Will she be here and free to wed?'
Oh it was on a morn of Spring,
And I had in my purse a ring
I bought in Eastern voyaging,
With thought of you and only you;
For I to my love dream was true . . .
And here you were, your eyes of blue.
The same sun shining on your brow
Lustered you hair as it does now,
My heart was standing still, I vow.
I bought a stamp, my eyes were bent
Upon a ring you wore - I went
Away as if indifferent.
Again I sailed behind the mast,
And yet your image held me fast,
For once again ten years have passed.
And I am bronzed with braid of gold;
The rank of Captain now I hold,
And fifty are my years all told.
Yet still I have that ruby ring
I bought for you that morn of Spring -
See, here it is, a pretty thing. . . .
But now you've none upon your finger;
Why? I don't know - but as I linger
I'm thinking : Oh what can I bring her.
Who all my life have ploughed the ocean,
A lonely man with one devotion -
Just you? Ah, if you'd take the notion
To try the thing you ought to wear,
It fits so well. Do leave it there.
And here's a note addressed to you.
Ah yes, quite strangers are we two,
But - well, please answer soon . . . Adieu!
* * * * * * * * * *
Oh no, you never more will see
Her selling stamps at Wicket Three:
Queen of my home, she's pouring tea.
poem by Robert William Service
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Related quotes
Plain Gold Ring
Earl s. burroughs
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
It was where everyone could see
He belonged to someone, but not me
On his hand was a plain gold band
Plain gold ring has a story to tell
It was one that I knew too well
In my heart it will never be spring
Long as he wears a plain gold ring
Oh, oh
When nighttime comes a callin on me
I know why I will never be free
I cant stop these teardrops of mine
Im gonna love him till the end of time
Plain gold ring has but one thing to say
Ill remember till my dying day
In my heart it will never be spring
Long as he wears a plain gold ring
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
Plain gold ring on his finger he wore
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A jinxed wedding ring
‘A Jinxed wedding ring’
A gold wedding ring with diamonds two
A hundred years ago was bought new
He went down a mine, a hole to blow
Something went wrong, what? We’ll never know
She kept the ring on her wedding finger
Cos for his return, she did linger
She died all alone in a paupers bed
Wear this on your wedding day to the nurse she said
The nurse wore it with pride
Seeing the old lady by her side
Next day her husband went off to war
Never to be seen any more
She waited for him and happy news
A life of solitude was what she choose
Constantly waiting forever forlorn
Her wedding ring forever worn
The nurse gave it to her daughter
Whose husband also went of to the slaughter
She wondered what It was all for
Another widow, another product of war
The ring was passed down to her son
Who gave it to his chosen one
But, shortly after the lovers pact
They were both victims of a terrorist act
Once something new the ring of gold
Was handed down as the something old
There’s no use for you to get worried
The jinxed ring is now buried
Never to produce another loner
Interred with it’s last owner
Another gold ring with diamonds two
My dear! ! ! Will be bought just for you
Michael Micmac Mccrory
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Take The Star Out Of The Window
Robert was a sailor
For the best years of his life
His captain was his mother
And the ocean was his wife
Only fresh out of the cradle
Lifes one and only spring
He was sworn to do his duty
And got blood on his highschool ring
Chorus:
And its hello california
Hello dad and mom
Ship ahoy
Your baby boy
Is home from vietnam
Dont you ask me any questions
bout the medals on my chest
Take the star out of the window
And let my conscience take a rest
Now he sailed across the ocean
To the old far eastern war
And it was foreign to his body
It was foreign to his shore
So he traded in the present
For the better times hed seen
And made an oriental waitress
His own home comin queen
(repeat chorus)
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ever-Present Ring
Ever-Present Ring
==================
My Father Lost A Wedding Ring
The One Cherished For 42 Years
It Was Replaced By What I Bought Him
I Bought Him A New Wedding Band
An Ever-Present Of What Was Present
A Marriage Lasting Longer Than Most
What Was Most Important
Was The Symbol Of That New Ring
It Was The Thought That Counted
And What's Counted Was The Years
He Was Married For 44 Years
He Died This Year
From 1968 To 2012 The Marriage Thrived
After Being Married For 44 Years
He Told His Wife, My Mother
That She Was The Only One
The Entire Time He Stayed Faithful
And In Faith Was His Love
As Parting Souvenir, I Will Keep That Ring
Which I Gave Him Last Year
Because The Symbol Of Union
Between Man And Wife
For All Those Blessed Years
Is What Counts
And Now What's Counted Are The Days
Since His Passing On The 27th Of May
A Day Begun In Mourning In The Early Morning
In May Of Heart Break Mourn
I Will Cherish That Ring
That Ever-Present Ring
And I'll Wear It Every Single Day
To Mourn His Passing
A Bond Between Father And Son
In What May Be My Heart
Will Never Break The Mourn.
poem by Ricardo Antunes
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The Buckskin Bag of Gold
Last night I met him on the train--
A man with lovely eyes;
And he gave me a searching glance
Of sweet charm'd surprise!
I knew 'twas he the lady meant,
Who once my fortune told,
By his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Yes! (Ha! ha!) Yes! (ha! ha!) his is the man
Who does your fortune hold!
He has jet black eyes, a grand moustache,
And a buckskin bag of gold.
Tall! (Ha! ha!) slim! (ha! ha!) quick as a flash!
And twenty two years old;
He has jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
The dearest man you ever saw
How much I love him now!
And if I should live a thousand years,
No other hears my vow.
Like Judas--no, like Jupiter,
He look'd so brave and bold,
With his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Sweet boy bring me the "Morning Call"
Perchance I'll find his name;
At the "Grand Hotel" he must have stopp'd,
I wonder when he came!
He must have charm'd those Lumpkin girls,
So haughty, proud and cold,
By his jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
How can I seek a name unknown?
Oh, tell me where he went!
What is this I read! why Papa's bank
Is robb'd of ev'ry cent!
The thief, it seems, left town last night,
Well, well! I'm nicely sold!
He had jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Ring Out , Wild Bells
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wild Thing
Wild thing
You made the boys spring
You made everything expensive
Spend it, spend it, wild thing
Theres hardly a man left around that you havent sought out
Theres hardly a dress shop in town that you havent bought out
In case youre wondering why the hair salon wouldnt take you
Theres hardly a woman left in any state that doesnt hate you
Wild thing
You made the boys spring
You made everything expensive
Spend it, spend it, wild thing
Its truly awesome
When she was younger she thought her mother had missed her calling
And she, in turn, thought that her daughters conduct was appalling
After each date she had the boys, went home and dreamed of spiders
She never fell for any man who wasnt rich as midas
Wild thing
You made the boys spring
You made everything expensive
Spend it, spend it, wild thing
Its truly awesome
If theres a lesson to be learned then Im sure I dont know it
Weve all been waiting twenty years to see her finally blow it
But as far as I can tell shes happy, rich, and worry-free
And thats a hell of a lot more than I can say for me
Wild thing
You made the boys spring
You made everything expensive
Spend it, spend it wild thing
Wild thing
You made your heart sing
You bought everything you wanted
Spend it, spend it, wild thing
It was truly awesome
Thats my girl, go baby!
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At play
Play that you are mother dear,
And play that papa is your beau;
Play that we sit in the corner here,
Just as we used to, long ago.
Playing so, we lovers two
Are just as happy as we can be,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
"I love you" we both shall say,
All in earnest and all in play.
Or, play that you are that other one
That some time came, and went away;
And play that the light of years agone
Stole into my heart again to-day!
Playing that you are the one I knew
In the days that never again may be,
I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
I love you!" my heart shall say
To the ghost of the past come back to-day!
Or, play that you sought this nestling-place
For your own sweet self, with that dual guise
Of your pretty mother in your face
And the look of that other in your eyes!
So the dear old loves shall live anew
As I hold my darling on my knee,
And I'll say "I love you" to you,
And you say "I love you" to me!
Oh, many a strange, true thing we say
And do when we pretend to play!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bought And Sold
Bought and sold.
Bought,
And sold.
Bought and sold...
As if no feelings I keep.
But deep inside I'm touched.
Nothing here is cheaply rushed.
Bought and sold...
On what to me has been told.
Not me I'm not of mush.
Nor easily crushed to dust.
Excesses on the cheapness of life,
Has made a weakness increase...
And,
Bought and sold.
Bought,
And sold.
Bought and sold.
Too many given anything.
Just to say they've gotten a piece,
To be...
Bought and sold.
Bought and sold...
On what to me has been told.
Not me I'm not of mush.
Nor easily crushed to dust.
Bought and sold...
As if no feelings I keep.
But deep inside I'm touched.
Nothing here is cheaply rushed.
Too many people take for granted and accept too easily.
To be sold,
On what they're told.
Too many people take for granted and accept too easily.
Bought and sold,
On what they're told.
Too many people take for granted and accept too easily.
To be sold,
On what they're told.
Bought and sold,
On what they're told.
Just...
To sell.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Old Song Ended
“How should I your true love know
From another one?”
“By his cockle-hat and staff
And his sandal-shoon.”
“And what signs have told you now
That he hastens home?”
“Lo! the spring is nearly gone,
He is nearly come.”
“For a token is there nought,
Say, that he should bring?”
“He will bear a ring I gave
And another ring.”
“How may I, when he shall ask,
Tell him who lies there?”
“Nay, but leave my face unveiled
And unbound my hair.”
“Can you say to me some word
I shall say to him?“
“Say I'm looking in his eyes
Though my eyes are dim.”
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Remember--Forget
AND what shall be the song to-night,
If song there needs must be?
If every year that brings us here
Must steal an hour from me?
Say, shall it ring a merry peal,
Or heave a mourning sigh
O'er shadows cast, by years long past,
On moments flitting by?
Nay, take the first unbidden line
The idle hour may send,
No studied grace can mend the face
That smiles as friend on friend;
The balsam oozes from the pine,
The sweetness from the rose,
And so, unsought, a kindly thought
Finds language as it flows.
The years rush by in sounding flight,
I hear their ceaseless wings;
Their songs I hear, some far, some near,
And thus the burden rings
'The morn has fled, the noon has past,
The sun will soon be set,
The twilight fade to midnight shade;
Remember-and Forget!'
Remember all that time has brought--
The starry hope on high,
The strength attained, the courage gained,
The love that cannot die.
Forget the bitter, brooding thought,--
The word too harshly said,
The living blame love hates to name,
The frailties of the dead!
We have been younger, so they say,
But let the seasons roll,
He doth not lack an almanac
Whose youth is in his soul.
The snows may clog life's iron track,
But does the axle tire,
While bearing swift through bank and drift
The engine's heart of fire?
I lift a goblet in my hand;
If good old wine it hold,
An ancient skin to keep it in
Is just the thing, we 're told.
We 're grayer than the dusty flask,--
We 're older than our wine;
Our corks reveal the 'white top' seal,
The stamp of '29.
Ah, Boys! we clustered in the dawn,
To sever in the dark;
A merry crew, with loud halloo,
We climbed our painted bark;
We sailed her through the four years' cruise,
We 'll sail her to the last,
Our dear old flag, though but a rag,
Still flying on her mast.
So gliding on, each winter's gale
Shall pipe us all on deck,
Till, faint and few, the gathering crew
Creep o'er the parting wreck,
Her sails and streamers spread aloft
To fortune's rain or shine,
Till storm or sun shall all be one,
And down goes TWENTY-NINE!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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A Yellow Daffodil
When I went to school
oh, so many years ago
I remember a girl
who always wore a yellow daffodil.
She wore it in her hair,
spring, summer and fall
and not a day went passed
when she did not wear it at all.
No one knows why she wore it
nor what or whom it was for.
As the years passed
and we went, our separate ways
I often wonder what had became of
the girl who always wore a yellow daffodil.
I hope she had a happy life
with all the things that bring a radiant spring
and that all her dreams came true.
If you ever see a woman
wearing a yellow daffodil
just tell her that this someone
still remembers her from our childhood spring.
18 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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Anthem
The birds they sang
At the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Dont dwell on what
Has passed away
Or what is yet to be
The wars they will
Be fought again
The holy dove
Be caught again
Bought and sold
And bought again
The dove is never free
Chorus
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
Thats how the light gets in
We asked for signs
The signs were sent
The birth betrayed
The marriage spent
The widowhood
Of every government
Signs for all to see
Cant run no more
With the lawless crowd
While the killers in high places
Say their prayers out loud
But theyve summoned up
A thundercloud
And theyre going to hear from me
Chorus
You can add up the parts
But you wont have the sum
You can strike up the march
There is no drum
Every heart
To love will come
But like a refugee
Chorus
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wedding Bells/lets Turn Back The Years
I got the invitation that you sent me,
You wanted me to see you change your name
I couldnt stand to see you wed another
But dear I hope youre happy just the same
I planned a little cottage in the valley,
I even bought that little band of gold
I thought some day Id place it on your finger,
But now the future looks so dark and cold
Wedding bells are ringing in the chapel
That should be ringing now for you and me
Down the aisle with someone else youre walking
Those wedding bells with never ring for me
Darling, lets turn back the years
And go back to yesterday
Lets pretend that time has stopped
And I didnt go away
We had our love to make us happy
Love wasnt meant to bring us tears
Love like ours should never die
So, darling, lets turn back the years
I fancy that I see a bunch of roses
A blossom from and orange tree in your hair
While the organ plays I love you truly,
Just let me pretend that I am there
Wedding bells are ringing in the chapel
That should be ringing now for you and me
Down the aisle with someone else youre walking
Those wedding bells with never ring for me
Those wedding bells with never ring for me
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Escape of the Old Grey Squirrel
Old Grey Squirrel might have been
Almost anything -
Might have been a soldier, sailor,
Tinker, tailor
(Never a beggar-man, though, nor thief).
Might have been, perhaps, a king,
Or an Indian chief.
He remained a City clerk
Doubled on a great high stool,
Totting up, from dawn to dark,
Figures, figures, figures, figures,
Red ink, black ink, double rule,
Tot-tot-totting with his pen,
Up and down and round again -
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.
No one ever really knew
What he did at night,
In his room so near the roof,
Up those steep and narrow stairs.
Old Grey Squirrel wasn't quite
The same as other men.
What he said was always true;
He was like a little child
In a thousand things.
Something shy and delicate,
Cold and grave and undefiled,
Seemed to keep him quite aloof.
You could never call him lonely,
Though he lived with memory there.
When he knelt beside his bed
He had nothing much to say
But the simplest little prayer
Learned in childhood, long ago,
And he didn't know or care
Whether Calvinists might call it
Praying for the dead.
Father, mother, sister, brother -
Memories clear as evening bells;
Yes, the very sort of thing
All your clever little scribblers
Love to satirize and sting,
So let's talk of something else.
He collected stamps, you know,
Commonplace Old Squirrel.
Ah, but could you see him there,
When the day's grey work was done,
Poring over his new stamps
With that wise old air;
Looking up the curious places
In his tattered atlas, too
Lands of jungle and of sun,
Ivory tusks and dusky faces,
Whence his latest treasure flew
Like a tropic moth, he thought,
To flutter round his dying lamp. . . .
Visions are not bought and sold;
But, when the foreign mail came in
Bringing his employers news
Of copper, sulphide, zinc and tin
(And the red resultant gold),
Envelopes were thrown away,
So, of course, one clearly sees
He could pick, and he could choose,
Having, as he used to say,
'Very great advantages.'
Rarities could not be bought.
Bus fares don't leave much for spending
On a flight to Zipangu.
All the same, one never knew.
All things come to those who wait -
Isles of palm in rose and blue,
India, China and Peru,
And the Golden Gate.
So he'd turn his treasures over -
Mauve and crimson, buff and cream -
Every stamp an elfin window
Opening on a boy's lost dream.
'Curious, curious, that's Jamaica,
That's Hong Kong (the twopenny red),
I've no doubt they are well worth seeing,
Well worth seeing,' Old Squirrel said.
'Curious' - curious was his word -
Old Grey Squirrel remembered a day
Sitting alone in a whispering fir-wood
(This was in boyhood before they caught him)
Writing a story of far Cathay,
A tale that his friends would think absurd
But would make him famous when he was dead.
'Curious' - thinking of all those years,
All those dreams that had drifted away -
Once, he had thought - but the years had taught him,
Taught him better, and bowed his head.
'Curious' - memory clings and lingers -
Clings - the smell of the fir wood - clings . . .
Through his wrinkled ink-stained fingers,
'Curious, curious,' trickled the tears,
Curious Old Grey Squirrel.
No, you'd hardly call it weeping.
Old Grey Squirrel could not weep.
Head on arm, he might have been
Sleeping; but he did not know.
Most of us are sound asleep;
And, that Christmas Eve, it seems,
He awoke, at last, from dreams.
Gently, as a woman's hand
Something touched him on the brow,
And he woke, in that strange land -
Where he lives for ever now.
All things come to those who wait -
Palms against a deeper blue,
Far Cathay and Zipangu,
And the Golden Gate.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Years
To-night I close my eyes and see
A strange procession passing me --
The years before I saw your face
Go by me with a wistful grace;
They pass, the sensitive, shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.
The years went by and never knew
That each one brought me nearer you;
Their path was narrow and apart
And yet it led me to your heart --
Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years,
That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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Property
The red-roofed house of dream design
Looks three ways on the sea;
For fifty years I've made it mine,
And held it part of me.
The pines I planted in my youth
Triumpantly are tall . . .
Yet now I know with sorry sooth
I have to leave it all.
Hard-hewn from out the living rock
And salty from the tide,
My house has braved the tempest shock
With hardihood and pride.
Each nook is memoried to me;
I've loved its every stone,
And cried to it exultantly:
"My own, my very own!"
Poor fool! To think that I possess.
I have but cannot hold;
And all that's mine is less and less
My own as I grow old.
My home shall ring with childish cheers
When I shall leave it lone;
My house will bide a hundred years
When I am in the bone.
Alas! No thing can be my own:
At most a life-long lease
Is all I hold, a little loan
From Time, that soon will cease.
For now by faint and failing breath
I feel that I must go . . .
Old House! You've never known a death,--
Well, now's your hour to know.
poem by Robert William Service
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Retired Shopman
He had the grocer's counter-stoop,
That little man so grey and neat;
His moustache had a doleful droop,
He hailed me in the slushy street.
"I've sold my shop," he said to me,
Cupping his hand behind his ear.
"My deafness got so bad, you see,
Folks had to shout to make me hear."
He sighed and sadly shook his head;
The hand he gave was chill as ice.
"I sold out far too soon," he said;
"To-day I'd get ten times the price.
But then how was a man to know,
(The War, the rising cost of life.)
We have to pinch to make things go:
It's tough - I'm sorry for the wife.
"She looks sometimes at me with tears.
'You worked so hard,' I hear her say.
'You had your shop for forty years,
And you were honest as the day.'
Ah yes, I loved my shop, it's true;
My customers I tried to please;
But when one's deaf and sixty-two
What can one do in times like these?
"My savings, that I fondly thought
Would keep me snug when we were old,
Are melting fast - what once I bought
For silver, now is sought with gold.
The cost of life goes up each day;
I wonder what will be the end?"
He sighed, I saw him drift away
And thought: Alas for you, my friend!
and every day I see him stop
And look and look with wistful eye
At what was once his little shop,
Whose goods he can no longer buy.
Then homeward wearily he goes
To where his wife bed-ridden lies,
A driblet dangling from his nose. . . .
But Oh the panic in his eyes!
poem by Robert William Service
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The Jumblies
They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they went to sea:
In spite of all their friends could say,
On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,
In a Sieve they went to sea!
And when the Sieve turned round and round,
And every one cried, `You'll all be drowned!'
They called aloud, `Our Sieve ain't big,
But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!
In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
They sailed away in a Sieve, they did,
In a Sieve they sailed so fast,
With only a beautiful pea-green veil
Tied with a riband by way of a sail,
To a small tobacco-pipe mast;
And every one said, who saw them go,
`O won't they be soon upset, you know!
For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long,
And happen what may, it's extremely wrong
In a Sieve to sail so fast!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
The water it soon came in, it did,
The water it soon came in;
So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet
In a pinky paper all folded neat,
And they fastened it down with a pin.
And they passed the night in a crockery-jar,
And each of them said, `How wise we are!
Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long,
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,
While round in our Sieve we spin!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
And all night long they sailed away;
And when the sun went down,
They whistled and warbled a moony song
To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,
In the shade of the mountains brown.
`O Timballo! How happy we are,
When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar,
And all night long in the moonlight pale,
We sail away with a pea-green sail,
In the shade of the mountains brown!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,
To a land all covered with trees,
And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart,
And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,
And a hive of silvery Bees.
And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws,
And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws,
And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,
And no end of Stilton Cheese.
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
And in twenty years they all came back,
In twenty years or more,
And every one said, `How tall they've grown!
For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,
And the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
And they drank their health, and gave them a feast
Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast;
And every one said, `If we only live,
We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---
To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'
Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,
And they went to sea in a Sieve.
poem by Edward Lear
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weddin' Bells
I have the invitation that you sent me
You wanted me to see you change your name
I couldn't stand to see you wed another
But dear I hope you're happy just the same
Wedding bells are ringing in the chapel
That should be ringing out for you and me
Down the aisle with someone else you're walking
Those wedding bell will never ring for me
I planned a little cottage in the valley
I even bought a little band of gold
I thought some day I'd place it on your finger
But now the future looks so dark and cold
Wedding bells are ringing in the chapel
I hear the children laughing out with glee
At home alone I hang my head in sorrow
Those wedding bells will never ring for me
I fancy that I see a bunch of roses
A blossom from an orange tree in your hair
And while the organ plays I love you truly
Please let me pretend that I am there
Wedding bells are ringing in the chapel
Ever since the day you set me free
I knew someday that you would wed another
But wedding bells will never ring for me
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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