River Thames
Roaring and flowing from
Gloucestershire via Teddington
Leaving exquisiteness here
while passing through London.
North bank and south bank,
a compass of the England
Very strategic position
for many cultural events.
Blessed with kisses of darling
Oxford, Kingston, Windsor,
Feel of heaven around
for nature lovers and writers.
Great source for food and water
for the people of England,
Giving habitation to millions
for the years of thousands.
With sailing and rowing
a major leisure and pleaser,
For outing and romance
tranquil banks of the river.
Watched conquerers, emperors,
passing time of England,
falling of London bridge,
making up of whole land,
Helping people's prosperity,
a boon for the Nation,
Fulfils numerous human needs,
thrives lives flowing or frozen.
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Related quotes
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
Thames River arises at Gloucestershire,
flows thro' London, the capital of U.K;
Thames River is tidal in London
With a rise and fall of 7 meters,
The river is fed by more than 20 tributaries;
The Thames River which flows alongside
several other towns and cities -
Oxford, Reading, Henley-on-Thames,
Windsor, Kingston upon Thames and Richmond -
is beautiful;
Thames River has a total length of 215 mile,
River banks on either side are beautiful,
Pavement strolling stretch on either side
is beautiful;
Boats sailing in Thames river are beautiful,
Young women who sail in the boats are beautiful,
White swan pairs' which swim in the river are beautiful;
Watching swans from the bridge,
- which spans Reading and Caversham -
somersaulting to catch the fish
is still more exciting and beautiful!
Thames! Beautiful Thames!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Oh England My Lionheart
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Im in your garden, fading fast in your arms.
The soldiers soften, the war is over.
The air raid shelters are blooming clover.
Flapping umbrellas fill the lanes--
My london bridge in rain again.
Oh! england, my lionheart!
Peter pan steals the kids in kensington park.
You read me shakespeare on the rolling thames--
That old river poet that never, ever ends.
Our thumping hearts hold the ravens in,
And keep the tower from tumbling.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
Oh! england, my lionheart!
Dropped from my black spitfire to my funeral barge.
Give me one kiss in apple-blossom.
Give me one wish, and Id be wassailing
In the orchard, my english rose,
Or with my shepherd, wholl bring me home.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sir Christopher Wren 1632-1723
In the archives may be seen
a well-known name, an evergreen.
Professor of Astronomy at Oxford,
the great and famous Architect
.... Sir Christopher Wren....
After the Great Fire of London
in sixteen sixty-six, Sir Christopher
designed St. Paul's Cathedral
and many other London churches
and buildings; there was no ending
to his achievements.
Born in England,
he died in England,
and today we honour such
a great name from history.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Ripoff
I don't wanna be no traitor to the cause
But England is a luxury - not many can afford
There's people going under - it's getting out of hand
Whatever happened to our - our green and pleasant land?
It turned into a wilderness; it turned into a third world country
Most people ain't getting what they pay for
Some people gettin' more than they should be
I know, I know - I'm an alien - but what are you gonna do
I wanna live in England - but it gets to you
It gets to you, it gets to you, it gets to you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
What do you do when you find out?
Where do you go if you leave?
There's no place like home - that's what they say
And that's what you always believed
Someday you might win the Lottery
Someday you might win the Pools
But that's all you've got - that's all you've got
- to live for, to live for
That's all you've got - that's all you've got -
to live for, to live for (yeah)
To be or not to be - that's the question
Oh what's it gonna be?
I'd love to live in England - but it gets to me
it gets to me, it gets to me, yeah it gets to me
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
Oh I really don't know why - England wants to rip off
England wants to rip off , England wants to rip o
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My river bank
The water hit the bank
Like a wave upon a shore
Happiness just out of reach
Finding that is something you can’t teach
No one to talk to
No one to see
As you can tell just me
I sit alone on my river bank
No happy people passing by as I let out a gentle sigh
I realized I sit alone on my river bank
Unreal happiness in this unreal tournament they call life
I sit alone, isolated on my river bank
I shall always sit alone on my river bank
I will always be alone on this river bank
poem by EmOzEd johnston
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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London Song
Theres a room in a house in a street in a manor in a borough
Thats part of a city that is generally referred to as london
Its a dark place, a mysterious place
And it is said that if youre born within the sound of bow-bells
You have the necessary qualifications to be christened a londoner
[its a cruel place, its a hard place]
But when you think back to all the great londoners
William blake, charles dickens, dick whittington,
Pearly kings, barrow boys, arthur daley, max wall
And dont forget the kray twins
But if youre ever up on highgate hill on a clear day
You can see right down to leicester square [london, london]
Crystal palace, clapham common, right down to streatham hill
North and south, I feel that Im a londoner still [london, london]
Chiswick bridge to newham and east ham
Churchbells ring out through the land
You were born in london, england
[london, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london]
And theres a tap by a reservoir, leading to a stream,
That turns into a river estuary that eventually opens to the sea
[london, london]
And theres a docker by a wharf, sending cargo overseas,
Unloading foreign trade from a large ocean vessel
In the mighty metropolitan port of london
[london, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london]
When I think of all the londoners still unsung
East-enders, west-enders, oriental-enders
Fu manchu, sherlock holmes, jack spock, henry cooper,
Thomas abecket, thomas moore, and dont forget the kray twins
Theres a part of me that says get out
Then one day Ill hear somebody shout
Sounds to me like you come from london town
But if youre ever up on highgate hill on a clear day,
Ill be there [Ill be there]
Yes I will be there [there]
Through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
London, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
London, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From the Bush
The Channel fog has lifted –
And see where we have come!
Round all the world we've drifted,
A hundred years from "home".
The fields our parents longed for –
Ah! we shall ne'er know how –
The wealth that they were wronged for
We'll see as strangers now!
The Dover cliffs have passed on –
In the morning light aglow –
That our fathers looked their last on
A weary time ago.
Now grin, and grin your bravest!
We need be strong to fight;
For you go home to picture
And I go home to write.
Hold up your head in England,
Tread firm on London streets;
We come from where the strong heart
Of all Australia beats!
Hold up your head in England
However poor you roam!
For no men are your betters
Who never sailed from home!
From a hundred years of hardships –
'Tis ours to tell the cost –
From a thousand miles of silence
Where London would be lost;
From where the glorious sunset
On sweeps of mulga glows –
Ah! we know more than England,
And more than Europe knows!
Hold up your head in London,
However poor you come,
For no man is your better
Who never sailed from home!
Our "home" and foreign fathers,
Where none but men dared go,
Have done more for the White Man
Than England e'er shall know!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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English Names on Canadian Thames
England hath given us the names
To adorn Canadian Thames,
And charms to them she hath lent,
In Oxford, Middlesex and Kent.
She Essex kisseth in her mouth,
And Scottish names, one north, one south ;
And London now she justly claims
She's capital of vale of Thames,
And her strong castellated tower .
Doth on the river frowning lower ;
And Chatham is the river's port,
There slaves for freedom did resort,
And they did industrious toil
And now many own the soil.
Stratford, now, shall be our theme,
On Avon, tributary stream,
And its clear waters it doth launch
Into the Thames, northern branch.
Near that substantial stone town,
St. Mary's, with mills of renown.
Some imagine the Thames is too insignificant a stream
to be sung in verse.' Distance lends enchantment to
the view. and they fancy the old Scottish rivers are
more worthy of song ; but many of them are polluted of
late years with vile odors from factories ; and, as the
county of Oxford is agreeably diversified with hills
and dales, the clear, sparkling stream, flowing over a
pebbly bottom, is indeed 'a thing of beauty and a joy forever.'
poem by James McIntyre
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London Bridge Song, The
Joni's lighthearted take on "london bridge" was a crowd pleaser in her mid-sixties club show, before she signed her first recording contract. this transcription includes spoken patter
Combined with her music, enchanted audiences back in the early days when joni was playing the smaller, more intimate venues she has always enjoyed most.
(spoken words are in italics)
London bridge is falling down
See the people in my town
They're the ones who bring it down
(it's true they've been for centuries,
Walking by it and saying, you know,
London bridge really is falling down, poor thing,
It just fell down in shame)
My fair lady-o
London bridge is falling up
Save the tea leaves in my cup
Guess the cup is cracking up
My fair lady-o
(i'll have to get a pyrex one)
London bridge is up for sale
Booze heads put my friend in jail
Spent my bridge money on bail
My fair lady-o
(sure would've like to have bought that bridge)
(couldn't let him go to jail)
If the bridge belonged to me
I would serve you tarts and tea
Smiles, that's all the tolls would be
(don't grant you people would be getting across at all)
My fair lady-o
On the bridge there stands a car
Painted with peculiar flowers
It's the beatles' it's not ours
(guess they're looking at the bridge)
(hope they buy it)
My fair lady-o
London bridge is falling down
(something like that)
London bridge is coming down
Coming down on london bridge
Ice cubes melting in my fridge
(they always, do you know those fridges are terrible, they're always melting things and ice cubes are dripping all over the floor)
(and the vegetables are all rotten and your friend turns to you in her very british way and she says: "you know i paid two bob for this. it smells a bit peculiar doesn't it, but don't you t
.. well, we can serve it anyway" and she does)
Coming down on london bridge
Mutton rotting in my fridge
Coming dow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow
Coming-ming-ming-ming-ming-ming
(a little electronic music there for your pleasure)
Coming down on london bridge
My fair lady-o
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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England, My England
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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National Song (E.C.)
There is no land like England
Where banks rise day by day,
There are no banks like English banks
To make the people pay.
There is no such land of castles
Where an Englishman is free
To read his smutty literature
With muffins at his tea.
Chorus:
For the French have comic papers
Not that nice Britons read 'em,
But the bawdy little Britons
Have bank sharks to bleed 'em
And to keep an eye on their readin' matter
Lest they should overhear the distressing chatter
Of the new economical theories
And ask inconvenient queetfes.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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London Bridge Song
Jonis lighthearted take on london bridge was a crowd pleaser in her mid-sixties club show, before she signed her first recording contract. this transcription includes spoken patter
Combined with her music, enchanted audiences back in the early days when joni was playing the smaller, more intimate venues she has always enjoyed most.
(spoken words are in italics)
London bridge is falling down
See the people in my town
Theyre the ones who bring it down
(its true theyve been for centuries,
Walking by it and saying, you know,
London bridge really is falling down, poor thing,
It just fell down in shame)
My fair lady-o
London bridge is falling up
Save the tea leaves in my cup
Guess the cup is cracking up
My fair lady-o
(Ill have to get a pyrex one)
London bridge is up for sale
Booze heads put my friend in jail
Spent my bridge money on bail
My fair lady-o
(sure wouldve like to have bought that bridge)
(couldnt let him go to jail)
If the bridge belonged to me
I would serve you tarts and tea
Smiles, thats all the tolls would be
(dont grant you people would be getting across at all)
My fair lady-o
On the bridge there stands a car
Painted with peculiar flowers
Its the beatles its not ours
(guess theyre looking at the bridge)
(hope they buy it)
My fair lady-o
London bridge is falling down
(something like that)
London bridge is coming down
Coming down on london bridge
Ice cubes melting in my fridge
(they always, do you know those fridges are terrible, theyre always melting things and ice cubes are dripping all over the floor)
(and the vegetables are all rotten and your friend turns to you in her very british way and she says: you know I paid two bob for this. it smells a bit peculiar doesnt it, but dont you t
.. well, we can serve it anyway and she does)
Coming down on london bridge
Mutton rotting in my fridge
Coming dow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow
Coming-ming-ming-ming-ming-ming
(a little electronic music there for your pleasure)
Coming down on london bridge
My fair lady-o
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye London
GOODBYE LONDON
I hear the whispers of London in my ears,
London! London! is how the birds sing,
oh, i love the english bus ride and the ancient buildings,
where the trees and the animals can stop dancing,
If men where horses, hopes will vanish in wheelchair,
Oh, I feel like enjoying in the queens empire of riches,
where the love the love of english beer won't stop flowing in my lips,
I know why I still dreams of cheese and the humpty-dumpty children will fly like wizards,
Oh, I remember the window of gossips of the old women,
I know why the london bridge wears a crown,
Oh, I never want to say goodbye to the land of the colonies,
where the beauty of flowers can stop milking,
where the voice of flute can stop roaring into the air,
where everyones fall in love with the empires,
And if you're searching for the crystal ball of snow,
London is where honey 's clock keep alarming,
Goodbye london of the Amazones of green light.
Yomi-Habib.
poem by Abayomi Habib
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The White Lily
By the river bank
The frogs croak and caress
Hoping along the river bank
From here to there
At a distant
The swallows twitter with fondness
The lilies rupture with the morning sun
The water reeds sway
As the wind blows along
The river bank
But yet....i feel lost
In this scenery of dexteric desires
I feel caught in lifes pedestals
Tender steps i make....
Along the river bank...
Lilies..
The white lily...
That symbolise
The purity of those souls
Enmeshed in lovesframe
The white lily
That symbolise
The fire that burns within circles
The white lily that symbolises
Long lost desires
Re-invented and rejuvenated
In this river of dexteric desires
The white lily
So white...so pure...
By the river bank
I watch the white lily float and dance
Along the river waters
Their is tenderness in the river
The fishes swim with tenderness
The waters flowing
With a lovers moan
Rythmic drums can be heard from afar
Magic everywhere
I sit and stare at the white lily
With a longing yen....
By the river bank.
poem by Jack Shaka
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The River Lark
The valley of the River Lark,
Whether carved through a country park,
Set along side a tranquil lake,
Crafts a beautiful walk to take,
Life ever teems upon the bank,
Mother nature we've cause to thank,
Age old roots of the English Oak,
Those too of the quaint local folk,
Down in the South East of England,
Amid a blanket of farmland,
The charming Suffolk countryside,
Where there are treasures to be spied,
A course cut by many a wood,
Prized by those in the neighbourhood,
There is much worthy to behold,
Owing to settlements of old.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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