En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Lark

From wrath-red dawn to wrath-red dawn,
The guns have brayed without abate;
And now the sick sun looks upon
The bleared, blood-boltered fields of hate
As if it loathed to rise again.
How strange the hush! Yet sudden, hark!
From yon down-trodden gold of grain,
The leaping rapture of a lark.

A fusillade of melody,
That sprays us from yon trench of sky;
A new amazing enemy
We cannot silence though we try;
A battery on radiant wings,
That from yon gap of golden fleece
Hurls at us hopes of such strange things
As joy and home and love and peace.

Pure heart of song! do you not know
That we are making earth a hell?
Or is it that you try to show
Life still is joy and all is well?
Brave little wings! Ah, not in vain
You beat into that bit of blue:
Lo! we who pant in war's red rain
Lift shining eyes, see Heaven too.

poem by Robert William Service
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Fairy Wings On My Glasses

The golden sun of the morning
turned into a silver shine in the sky
forming fairy wings on my glasses
and fairy wings in my eyes

The dark blue of the dawn's
backdropp sky is lightened by silver
shining with a softer, kinder
lovelier hue

I love being alive as I run about
in this beautiful world, magnificent glory
no more fear in the morning
Song of Songs is coming alive

In my heart, making my spirit
soar!

poem by Margaret Alice
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Moving Through The Dew

I
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Ere I waken in the city—Life, thy dawn makes all things new!
And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men,
Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings again!

Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
O mountains of my boyhood, I come again to you,
By the little path I know, with the sea far below,
And above, the great cloud-galleons with their sails of rose and snow

As of old, when all was young, and the earth a song unsung
And the heather through the crimson dawn its Eden incense flung
From the mountain-heights of joy, for a careless-hearted boy,
And the lavrocks rose like fountain sprays of bliss that ne’er could cloy,

From their little beds of bloom, from the golden gorse and broom,
With a song to God the Giver, o’er that waste of wild perfume;
Blowing from height to height, in a glory of great light,
While the cottage-clustered valleys held the lilac last of night,

So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I rise,
And I follow my lost boyhood to the heights of Paradise.
Life, thy dawn makes all things new! Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.

II

Moving through the dew, moving through the dew,
Floats a brother’s face to meet me! Is it you? Is it you?
For the night I leave behind keeps these dazzled eyes still blind!
But oh, the little hill-flowers, their scent is wise and kind;

And I shall not lose the way from the darkness to the day,
While dust can cling as their scent clings to memory for aye;
And the least link in the chain can recall the whole again,
And heaven at last resume its far-flung harvests, grain by grain.

To the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho’ eyeless Death may thrust
All else into the darkness, in their heaven I put my trust;
And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread of thyme
Where first I heard the ripple of the fountain-heads of rhyme.

And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow,
Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below.
Death, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Youth, I come to you,
Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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The Hills Of Youth

Once, on the far blue hills,
Alone with the pine and the cloud, in those high still places;
Alone with a whisper of ferns and a chuckle of rills,
And the peat-brown pools that mirrored the angels’ faces,
Pools that mirrored the wood-pigeon’s grey-blue feather,
And all my thistledown dreams as they drifted along;
Once, oh, once, on the hills, thro’ the red-bloomed heather
I followed an elfin song.

Once, by the wellsprings of joy,
In the glens of the hart’s-tongue fern, where the brooks came leaping
Over the rocks, like a scrambling bare-foot boy
That never had heard of a world grown old with weeping;
Once, thro’ the golden gorse (do the echoes linger
In Paradise woods, where the foam of the may runs wild?)
I followed the flute of a light-foot elfin singer,
A god with the eyes of a child.

Once, he sang to me there,
From a crag on a thyme-clad height where the dew still glistened;
He sang like the spirit of Spring in that dawn-flushed air,
While the angels opened their doors and the whole sky listened:
He sang like the soul of a rainbow, if heaven could hear it,
Beating to heaven, on wings that were April’s own;
A song too happy and brave for the heart to bear it,
Had the heart of the hearer known.

Once, ah, once, no more,
The hush and the rapture of youth in those holy places,
The stainless height, the hearts that sing and adore
Till the sky breaks out into flower with the angels’ faces!
Once, in the dawn, they were mine; but the noon bereft me.
At midnight now, in an ebb of the loud world’s roar,
I catch but a broken stave of the songs that left me
On hills that are mine no more.

poem by Alfred Noyes
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To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring

(For Kenton)

An iron hand has stilled the throats
That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee
And dammed the flood of silver notes
That drenched the world in melody.
The blosmy apple boughs are yearning
For their wild choristers' returning,
But no swift wings flash through the tree.

Ye that were glad and fleet and strong,
Shall Silence take you in her net?
And shall Death quell that radiant song
Whose echo thrills the meadow yet?
Burst the frail web about you clinging
And charm Death's cruel heart with singing
Till with strange tears his eyes are wet.

The scented morning of the year
Is old and stale now ye are gone.
No friendly songs the children hear
Among the bushes on the lawn.
When babies wander out a-Maying
Will ye, their bards, afar be straying?
Unhymned by you, what is the dawn?

Nay, since ye loved ye cannot die.
Above the stars is set your nest.
Through Heaven's fields ye sing and fly
And in the trees of Heaven rest.
And little children in their dreaming
Shall see your soft black plumage gleaming
And smile, by your clear music blest.

poem by Joyce Kilmer
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The Cloud Confines

The day is dark and the night
To him that would search their heart;
No lips of cloud that will part
Nor morning song in the light:
Only, gazing alone,
To him wild shadows are shown,
Deep under deep unknown
And height above unknown height.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

The Past is over and fled;
Nam'd new, we name it the old;
Thereof some tale hath been told,
But no word comes from the dead;
Whether at all they be,
Or whether as bond or free,
Or whether they too were we,
Or by what spell they have sped.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

What of the heart of hate
That beats in thy breast, O Time?--
Red strife from the furthest prime,
And anguish of fierce debate;
War that shatters her slain,
And peace that grinds them as grain,
And eyes fix'd ever in vain
On the pitiless eyes of Fate.
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

What of the heart of love
That bleeds in thy breast, O Man?--
Thy kisses snatch'd 'neath the ban
Of fangs that mock them above;
Thy bells prolong'd unto knells,
Thy hope that a breath dispels,
Thy bitter forlorn farewells
And the empty echoes thereof?
Still we say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

The sky leans dumb on the sea,
Aweary with all its wings;
And oh! the song the sea sings
Is dark everlastingly.
Our past is clean forgot,
Our present is and is not,
Our future's a seal'd seedplot,
And what betwixt them are we?--
We who say as we go,--
"Strange to think by the way,
Whatever there is to know,
That shall we know one day."

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Strange Magic

Youre sailing softly through the sun
In a broken stone age dawn.
You fly so high.
I get a strange magic,
Oh, what a strange magic,
Oh, its a strange magic.
Got a strange magic,
Got a strange magic.
Youre walking meadows in my mind,
Making waves across my time,
Oh no, oh no.
I get a strange magic,
Oh, what a strange magic,
Oh, its a strange magic.
Got a strange magic,
Got a strange magic.
Oh, Im never gonna be the same again,
Now Ive seen the way its got to end,
Sweet dream, sweet dream.
Strange magic,
Oh, what a strange magic,
Oh, its a strange magic.
Got a strange magic,
Got a strange magic.
Its magic, its magic, its magic.
Strange magic,
Oh, what a strange magic,
Oh, its a strange magic.
Got a strange magic.
Strange magic strange magic
Oh, what a strange magic strange magic
Oh, its a strange magic.
Got a strange magic.
Strange magic strange magic
Oh, what a strange magic strange magic
Oh, its a strange magic.
Got a strange magic,
Got a strange magic,
You know I got a strange magic,
Yeah, I got a strange magic,
Oo-o-o-oo, strange magic. (fade)

song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With The Lark

Night is for sorrow and dawn is for joy,
Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy;
Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,--
Cheery and chaste the strain, heartfelt and strong.
All the night through, though I moan in the dark,
I wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

Deep in the midnight the rain whips the leaves,
Softly and sadly the wood-spirit grieves.
But when the first hue of dawn tints the sky,
I shall shake out my wings like the birds and be dry;
And though, like the rain-drops, I grieved through the dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

On the high hills of heaven, some morning to be,
Where the rain shall not grieve thro' the leaves of the tree,
There my heart will be glad for the pain I have known,
For my hand will be clasped in the hand of mine own;
And though life has been hard and death's pathway been dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Spring's Welcome

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale.
Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu! she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! Who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note!
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!

poem by John Lyly
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Trico's Song

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale.
Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu! she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! Who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note!
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!

poem by John Lyly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Bird So Sings, Yet So Does Wail?

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
Oh, 'tis the ravished nightingale.
Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu, she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! Who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
How at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note;
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring,
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring.

poem by John Lyly
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Yellow Warblers

The first faint dawn was flushing up the skies
When, dreamland still bewildering mine eyes,
I looked out to the oak that, winter-long,
-- a winter wild with war and woe and wrong --
Beyond my casement had been void of song.

And lo! with golden buds the twigs were set,
Live buds that warbled like a rivulet
Beneath a veil of willows. Then I knew
Those tiny voices, clear as drops of dew,
Those flying daffodils that fleck the blue,

Those sparkling visitants from myrtle isles,
Wee pilgrims of the sun, that measure miles
Innumerable over land and sea
With wings of shining inches. Flakes of glee,
They filled that dark old oak with jubilee,

Foretelling in delicious roundelays
Their dainty courtships on the dipping sprays,
How they should fashion nests, mate helping mate,
Of milkweed flax and fern-down delicate
To keep sky-tinted eggs inviolate.

Listening to those blithe notes, I slipped once more
From lyric dawn through dreamland's open door,
And there was God, Eternal Life that sings,
Eternal joy, brooding all mortal things,
A nest of stars, beneath untroubled wings.

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Lost In The Grain

like an old picture,
hanging on some dusty wall.
in a room where no one goes,
down at the end of the hall.

lives drawn in crayon,
by hands that have since grown old.
lost somewhere in memories,
by a fire that has grown cold.

we were the wind and rain,
the ones who wouldnt love in vain.
the river steady, the sudden change,
the mountain's silence, the midnite train...
we were the wood lost in the grain.

you gave up your heart,
i gave up my home.
we burned a trail
in the dark just before dawn.

we touched the raw wound,
learned to name the scars.
never thinking of going back,
of giving up or betraying hearts.

we were the wind and rain,
the ones who wouldnt love in vain.
the river steady, the sudden change,
the mountain's silence, the midnite train...
we were the wood lost in the grain.

poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Rain: A Song Of Peace

The Rain, the Rain, the beautiful Rain-
Welcome, welcome, it cometh again;
It cometh with green to gladden the plain,
And to wake the sweets in the winding lane.

The Rain, the Rain, the beautiful Rain,
It fills the flowers to their tiniest vein,
Till they rise from the sod whereon they had lain-
Ah, me! ah, me! like an army slain.

The Rain, the Rain, the beautiful Rain,
Each drop is a link of a diamond chain
That unites the earth with its sin and its stain
To the radiant realm where God doth reign.

The Rain, the Rain, the beautiful Rain,
Each drop is a tear not shed in vain,
Which the angels weep for the golden grain
All trodden to death on the gory plain;

For Rain, the Rain, the beautiful Rain,
Will waken the golden seeds again!
But, ah! what power will revive the slain,
Stark lying death over fair Lorraine?

'Twere better far, O beautiful Rain,
That you swelled the torrent and flooded the main;
And that Winter, with all his spectral train,
Alone lay camped on the icy plain.

For then, O Rain, O beautiful Rain,
The snow-flag of peace were unfurl'd again;
And the truce would be rung in each loud refrain
Of the blast replacing the bugle's strain.

Then welcome, welcome, beautiful Rain,
Thou bringest flowers to the parched-up plain;
Oh! for many a frenzied heart and brain,
Bring peace and love to the world again!

poem by Denis Florence MacCarthy
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A Question Answered

I saw the lark at break of day
Rise from its dewy bed,
And, winged with melody, away
Circle to Heaven o'erhead.

I watched it higher and higher soar,
Still ceasing not to trill,
When, though I could descry no more
Its flight, I heard it still.

But shortly quavered back its note,
And, hovering into sight,
I saw it, homeward sinking, float
Over its nest of night.

``Tell me,'' I cried, ``glad songster, why
You, privileged to wend
Up to the blue and boundless sky,
Where only wings ascend,

``Full into Heaven, to look and gaze
Whither our thoughts aspire,
And, unrebuked, terrestrial lays
Blend with celestial choir,

``Why you, thus welcomed to the height
Of minstrelsy and mirth,
Pavilioned high from mortal sight,
Come back again to Earth.''

Then shook the lark again its wings,
And, fluttering o'er its bed
Deep-bosomed in the grassy floor,
In rippling answer said:-

``'Tis joy to mount, alone, aloft,
Into the ether clear,
And thence look down on garth and croft
Of red-roofed hamlets here.

``To sing my song through endless space,
Towering above, above,
While mortals watch with upturned face
Of longing and of love;

``Then, for a while, unseen to pass
Through unsubstantial dome,
But treble back to tangled grass-
Not Heaven, withal my home.

``And tell me, when I skyward sing,
Am I unlike to you,
That on Imagination's wing
Strain sometimes out of view

``Into the radiant Realms untrod
Song can alone descry,
And whilom join, by grace of God,
Angelic company

``Yet sink down from the firmament
Back to life's dearth and dole,
Knowing full well that song was sent
To comfort and console.''

poem by Alfred Austin
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Summer Morn in New Hampshire

All yesterday it poured, and all night long
I could not sleep; the rain unceasing beat
Upon the shingled roof like a weird song,
Upon the grass like running children's feet.
And down the mountains by the dark cloud kissed,
Like a strange shape in filmy veiling dressed,
Slid slowly, silently, the wraith-like mist,
And nestled soft against the earth's wet breast.

But lo, there was a miracle at dawn!
The still air stirred at touch of the faint breeze,
The sun a sheet of gold bequeathed the lawn,
The songsters twittered in the rustling trees.
And all things were transfigured in the day,
But me whom radiant beauty could not move;
For you, more wonderful, were far away,
And I was blind with hunger for your love.

poem by Claude McKay
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Good Morning Beautiful

One of these days you'll break me of many things
Some cold white day, but you're crazy if you think I would leave you this way
You should wake up before the wrath comes
(me and you) could take off before the wrath comes...soon
And one of these days I pray it will be sometime soon
On a day like today, you'd be crazy not to want me to teach you the way
You should wake up before the wrath comes
(me and you) could take off before the wrath comes...soon
Well I know what you're like - I've read it on the walls
You're too tired, you choose heaven over the earth and me but come on please...
You should wake up before the wrath comes
(me and you) could take off before the wrath comes
Well (maybe you) should take off
(yeah you) should take off

song performed by by Deftones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dark dragon wings

Skies beneath black wings
That binds and lashes winds
Knight of the night ride dark
Brash flames rain to burn lark.

Cast on the castle as thunder
And shadow the land under
Dark wings they've a hole and tear
Dark dragon through red eyes stare.

The skies defence revel in mist
And dawn a kingdom to resist
This warrior wear blood of night
As dry air burns in to light.

Dark dragon in skies dark your hidden
Rapture and reign the forbidden.

poem by Andrew Lockley
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Wings [Aripi]

On the sea of life I maybe let my mind to journey far
And I cheat myself with vain hopes, willingly, it's so bizarre,
I'm creating gold chimeras, lots of happenings arise,
And I watch them lost in rapture, for they all amaze my eyes.

Poetry! If I am walking or somewhere I'm standing still,
You bestow me with large blue wings, make me fly with so much skill;
There's no hindrance that can stop me, for I break it with my thought
And I'm waiting with excitement the events that life has brought!

On the road I see a treasure and it makes me feel content,
I get drunk of so much richness like a man that smells a scent.
I can see that everybody honors me and loves my stance,
Being charmed when I speak trifles, make a move or cast a glance.

Scores of ages still in future I believe will be inclined
To arrive with shining wonders to amaze and fill my mind.
Or in front of a brave army I can see myself sometimes,
Helmets spark, the drums start beating, in the distance a bell chimes...

When I wander in the wide world, crossing states that are so rife,
My heart rises from the ruins and my soul returns to life.
All alone, far from the people, I can see the deep blue sky
Opening a saintly portal to the mysteries on high
And my thought, which in the poems to a shining state will get,
In the golden stars will read then the eternal alphabet!

Wings! Through many polished visions you will help me now to fly!
On my forehead, rays of sunshine when you move will come and lie!
Don't you bring the sun inside me? What a splendor, what a charm,
When the red and light blue colors sooth me gently like a balm!

And around me pearls of silence crowd and make me feel so odd
When inside my heart I'm talking with the great and mighty God!
Wings! You are that ancient secret which the people cannot get,
You're the sacred flame that always worlds of wonder will beget,
And the whispers turning mildly into songs that off will fly,
Carried by the angels' voices to the boundless lofty sky!

poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian CocoÅŸ
Submitted by anonym
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Dance Mayflies Dance

They dance they sing a cheerful song
to spread the wings beyond along
the rising sun they want they take
under the blue of silent lake

They dance they sing a melody
no winter wind but trees embrace
the summer glows red ivory
no winter wind but only grace
they jump they fly a symphony
no winter wind but joyful face

They live they dance against the day
the moment of they can not dance
sparkling wings they were washed away
they fall dying they can not dance
the sky the moon were turning gray
till dawn they lost they can not dance

They are Mayflies which dance to live
though short they live they love to give
till dawn they lost their wings to fly
till dawn they lost the dreams so high

poem by Vidi Pudinkz
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Fallen Angels

They fell from heaven above,
And came with no love.
They fell into earth,
And brought with them so much hate.
They came with so much powers,
And corrupt earth with bad manners.
They wander all around our world,
Destroying our world with their evil sword.
They came with so much evil,
And disturb our peace like an upheaval.
They take away our joy,
Playing with our lives like a toy.
They cause us so much pain,
Making us suffer so much in vein.
They inject us with sin,
Bonding us with it like a twin.
They infect our heart with hate,
Dragging us far away from heaven's gate.
They live among us like our friend,
But are there to put our lives to an end.
They hate us so much,
That they wish to kill us with a single touch.
They enter our heart,
And tear it apart.
They deprive us of happiness,
Filling our days with so much sadness.
They make us have a taste of hell,
For they never wish us well.
They seprate us from the light of heaven,
And also deny us of the peace of heaven.
They are angels of the dark,
Marking our faces with the beast's mark.
They are angels with no wings,
And are dark angels but no kings.
They are not spiritually pure,
And wish for no cure.
They are not of God,
For they are of the world.
They will never be called God's angels,
Forever they will remain fallen angels.

poem by Stanley Oguh
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