The Nightingale
sweet solitude, silent and soulful,
The nightingale swooning to its own melancholy overtures,
a rustle of leaves, the squirell hoarding for the winter break,
The wooded glaze beyond sings to natures hauntingly beautiful tune.
Nature isn't party to the tough times man faces,
It is a gift all year round that even the poorest souls can afford,
All it asks is that we care for it like we do for our own,
The heavenly child, vulnerable, frightened and merely mortal,
Natures beauty isnt eternal, but we need to act as one to help it survive,
A morally corrupt and bankrupt society,
seeping into everything we hold dear and making it rotton,
If we all unite, we can secure the future for our blessed children.
The nightingale will sing again.....
poem by Simon Thorpe
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Related quotes
One Morning In May
One morning, one morning, one morning in may
I spied a young couple, they were making their way
One was a maiden so bright and so fair
And the other was a soldier and a brave volunteer
Good morning, good morning, good morning said he
And where are you going my pretty lady
Im goig out a walkin on the banks of the sea
Just to see the waters gliding hear the nightingale sing
Now they had not been standing but a minute or two
And out of his knapsack a fiddle he drew
And the tune that he played made the valleys all ring
Oh hark cried the maiden hear the nightingale sing
Oh maiden fair maiden tis time to give oer
Oh no kind soldier please play one tune more
For Id rather hear your fiddle at the touch of one string
Than to see the waters gliding hear the nightingale sing
Oh soldier kind soldier will you marry me
Oh no pretty maiden that never shall be
Ive a wife in london and children twice three
Two wives and the armys too many for me
Well Ill go back to london and Ill stay there for a year
Its often that Ill think of you my little dear
And if ever I return it will be in the spring
Just to see the waters gliding hear the nightingale sing
To see the waters gliding hear the nightingale sing
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bird Raptures
The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come darkness, moonrise, everything
That is so silent, sweet, and pale,
Come, so ye wake the nightingale.
Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon,
Make haste to wake the nightingale:
Let silence set the world in tune
To hearken to that wordless tale
Which warbles from the nightingale.
O herald skylark, stay thy flight
One moment, for a nightingale
Floods us with sorrow and delight.
To-morrow thou shalt hoist the sail;
Leave us tonight the nightingale.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Nightingale
(ferry/manzanera)
Before the morning comes, will I hear your song
Come little nightingale, I wont be here for long
When youre up there flying, do you care
If theres no one else around?
When your lover leaves you in the air
Do you waver, do you fall?
Now while the moon is high
Shall we, nightingale,
Duet all through the night
A pair of souls for sale
Stars cluster glistening
Captive till the dawn
Patiently listening
Theyve heard it all before
Should I stay here or should I go?
I couldnt bear to be alone
Was it really love I saw?
Oh, now Ill never know
What is this I hear?
I recognise that song
Sweet little nightingale I knew youd come along
Soon when the morning comes.
We will both be gone
So sing pretty nightingale
Lead, Ill follow on.
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From The Break The Nightingale
From the brake the Nightingale
Sings exulting to the Rose;
Though he sees her waxing pale
In her passionate repose,
While she triumphs waxing frail,
Fading even while she glows;
Though he knows
How it goes -
Knows of last year's Nightingale
Dead with last year's Rose.
Wise the enamoured Nightingale,
Wise the well-beloved Rose!
Love and life shall still prevail,
Nor the silence at the close
Break the magic of the tale
In the telling, though it shows -
Who but knows
How it goes! -
Life a last year's Nightingale,
Love a last year's Rose.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Ode To the World
Ode to the world,
For giving us life.
For your many beauties,
That tell not one lie.
Sometimes when I look up at the sky,
I am Blown away with the Beauty i do find.
Such wounder makes me question why,
Is the sky painted by a beautiful mind?
Natures wonder being everything she can be,
I see nothing else that compares to what I see.
Your Winds sing like a beautiful Symphony,
Nothing matters to me when I see mother natures Beauty.
Ode to the World.
poem by Erik Robles
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Nightingale’s Song
A delegation of birds petitioned God
“Why is it you never chastise the nightingale? ”
God bid nightingale to speak;
“My way, she explained is different
March to June I sing
The other nine months, while others
Continue chirping, I am silent”
Sing your sweet songs beloved
While your Brethren clatter about
But know when to be silent...
That God may speak to you
(Inspired by Rumi)
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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By The Arno
THE oleander on the wall
Grows crimson in the dawning light,
Though the grey shadows of the night
Lie yet on Florence like a pall.
The dew is bright upon the hill,
And bright the blossoms overhead,
But ah! the grasshoppers have fled,
The little Attic song is still.
Only the leaves are gently stirred
By the soft breathing of the gale,
And in the almond-scented vale
The lonely nightingale is heard.
The day will make thee silent soon,
O nightingale sing on for love!
While yet upon the shadowy grove
Splinter the arrows of the moon.
Before across the silent lawn
In sea-green mist the morning steals,
And to love's frightened eyes reveals
The long white fingers of the dawn
Fast climbing up the eastern sky
To grasp and slay the shuddering night,
All careless of my heart's delight,
Or if the nightingale should die.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Nughtingale And Cuckoo
Yes, nightingale and cuckoo! it was meet
That you should come together; for ye twain
Are emblems of the rapture and the pain
That in the April of our life compete,
Until we know not which is the more sweet,
Nor yet have learned that both of them are vain!
Yet wherefore, nightingale! break off thy strain,
While yet the cuckoo doth his call repeat?
Not so with me. To sweet woe did I cling
Long after echoing happiness was dead,
And so found solace. Now, alas! the sting!
Cuckoo and nightingale alike have fled;
Neither for joy nor sorrow do I sing,
And autumn silence gathers in their stead.
poem by Alfred Austin
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Nightingale
A nightingale dropped a letter
Upon my door last eve.
Such a lovely bird of paradise, she raised my spirit-
Tormented and remorseful, and carried it to heaven.
She left a branch of goldenrod- Peace flowers, before my feet.
After one fortnight and one month, I believed
I never again would be blessed to hear her sing,
If only I could feel the softness of her supple, downy feathers
Brush against my heart again,
And to see her green and soulful eyes gaze adoringly into mine,
I would capture her in both my hands,
And kiss her wounded wings.
I would steal away the pain that traumatized her mind and soul.
I’d send it to vanish within the early autumn breeze.
The song she sings is discordant, sad and dolorous.
Her spirit, fragile raw and vulnerable.
Her plumage, so delicate and frail has softened my hardened heart.
The tune she carries is bittersweet and mournful.
As I watch her soar into the heavens,
And disappear behind the rising moon,
I begin to weep dry tears inside,
Over the loss of almost-love.
I bid farewell to the only one whoever made my spirit dance-
That enchanting nightingale,
Who shall always dwell within the very core of me,
My loving tender bird of paradise.
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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In the strips of woods [În arcane de pădure]
In the strips of woods, the darkness in a scary way is clinging.
Both the crowded leaves are silent and the slender trees, so high;
Night is dumb, and sad, and dying, sheltered by the opaque sky,
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
In the strips of woods, the tempest in a scary way is spinning,
Sending down a flood of water and a crimson bolt of flame;
Why is harmony a nuisance and a fury without aim,
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
In the strips of woods, the terror with the quietness is mingling,
Late aurora under foliage cannot come to light the moss,
For in front of it the darkness blocks the way and lies across –
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The Three Maidens
There were three maidens met on the highway;
The sun was down, the night was late:
And two sang loud with the birds of May,
O the nightingale is merry with its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there so still?
The land is dark, the night is late:
O, but the heart in my side is ill,
And the nightingale will languish for its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is store;
The moon mounts up, the night is late:
O, I shall look on man no more,
And the nightingale is dumb without its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms and sing;
The moon mounts high, the night is late:
O my dear lover can hear no thing,
And the nightingale sings only to its mate.
They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was his lure;
The moon is pale, the night is late:
His grave is shallow on the moor;
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots at his hair;
The moon is chill, the night is late:
But I will lie beside him there:
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
poem by George Meredith
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Sweet Solitude
He used to sit on this bench,
still, silent and sad,
no one ever stopped to say hello,
Now he is gone however, natures jigsaw is missing a piece.
Butterflies fluttered overhead,
birds sang beautifull, melancholy tunes,
Squirrels flitted in and out of the trees, playing hide and seek with imaginary friends,
Not today though, they feel the loss.
The air is still today,
tearful, tarnished twigs clutch leaves like a groping beggar,
The cold draws close and darkness looms in the sky above,
The sun sensing somber sorrowful souls will not shine today.
The man who used to sit here has moved on,
Life must continue, that I know,
The eerie silence will be replaced again by laughter,
today however, natures friends remember.
I light a candle to an unknown friend, I hope it lights the way for his eternal, spiritual journey.
poem by Simon Thorpe
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The Small Nightingale
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
Oh! god save me!
Oh! lord save me!
I have tried to save myself but i failed to?
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a sorrowful bird
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a sorrowful bird
Oh! god forget about this;
Listen about the frog
The frog was jealous of me as i sing so well
He wants me to die
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
BUT, I am a dying bird
BUT, I am a dying bird.
Oh! god save me!
Oh! lord save me!
poem by Abhishek Nair
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Nightingale
I built my house beside the wood
So I could hear you singing
And it was sweet and it was good
And love was all beginning
Fare thee well my nightingale
Twas long ago I found you
Now all your songs of beauty fail
The forest closes round you
The sun goes down behind a veil
Tis now that you would call me
So rest in peace my nightingale
Beneath your branch of holly
Fare thee well my nightingale
I lived but to be near you
Tho' you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet Tree
Rustle, little leaves above, rustle in the breeze...
Rustle, little leaves of love, rustle mid God's peace!
Rustle, every night and day, rustle every hour...
Rustle, rustle, come what may, rustle mid God's power!
Rustle, for then wise words are formed,
Great expectations made!
Through such as these, men's hearts are warmed
And children's prayers are prayed!
Rustle upon the Poet Tree,
Above the poets' ears,
So they may learn each melody,
These God-picked volunteers...
Rustle sweetly, and gently on,
Persist from age to age -
Let all God's poets write upon
Their separate nearby page...
Rustle until all humans die
And no more poets live!
Until no soul would question, 'Why? '
And there's no cause to give!
Rustle until God tells you stop,
'Dear friends, at last, be free...
'Tis time for you to fall, to drop...
Beneath the Poet Tree...
I've loved each poem, every one...
And Jesus loved them, too!
You've blessed the world! Your task is done!
Your rustle days are through...'
poem by Denis Martindale
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Oh! Wonderful Frog
oh little Frog, why you have always see
the sky and shade tears for the rain to come,
look your feet ready to swim and your
tongue seems happy to sing
oh wonderful Frog, you shatter the night
with your fantastic chord, orchestrated by the
different voices where everybody laugh to
sing for the whole day, the nightingale of the
rain
oh come my dear valued Frog my heart find
its wisdom of the rain to come, you’ll the
driven power in every changing world; the
calmness of the silent night awake of your
songs, the turmoil river smoothly gone to the
sea and the flowers go asleep as you form
the kaleidoscopic tune of melody
oh Frog, the dawning forest lives as you
command, come and let me sing the sweet
stay with thee, take the funny lullaby that
makes every child swims happily as you sang,
and you’re the early song that window of
each child love to jump in the pond
beautiful Frog lends my hands ……
poem by Antonio Liao
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Winter Fox Wakes Not The Flowers
As dawns winter breeze raps her damp chill around the still trees,
The morning sun peeks and sends meagre warmth to grasp,
Black clouds unwanted hurry by, leaves rustle to please
That turns from green to sunshine silver not to last.
A solitary fox stands out crossing a snow clad field
Silent stealth, as if not to wake sleeping spring flowers,
Knows natures shopping cart as not much to yield
Then changes tracks into the cover of the forest wooden towers.
Nothing is growing all conserving for the burst of spring,
Then the fox appears prey in mouth he caught as he leapt,
His family snug in his den knowing sustenance he will bring.
Life goes on living to natures rule for the adept
poem by Ken e Hall
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Those birds
Those birds outside your window at dawn
singing all at once fit to bust –
did you know they migrate from Islam
in the fighting season?
They’re all Sufis: they sleep all night
with the Beloved; and in the morning
they exchange the jokes they heard,
the pillow talk from the night before sleep;
then the blackbird and the thrush
weave these into stories which they sing
all day; then at night the nightingale
makes them all into one beautiful poem
about being intoxicated into song
by the wine of Shiraz; the rose-water wafers;
and how those who say
that one cannot be intoxicated
by the longing for the One
have proved themselves wrong
and proved the nightingale right
as you can know in yourself
when the nightingale sings of this
to the heart’s light pulsing in the stars.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Morning Please Dont Come
(tom springfield)
Duet with tom springfield
Morning please dont come
Surely you see that my lover is sleeping
Morning please dont come
Let the night linger on
When the stars have left the sky
We must say fond goodbye
Make the night a little longer
Morning please dont come
Starshine glow a little stronger
Morning please dont come
Day dont break for you will take
My love away from me
Try to hold back the sun
I beg you morning please dont come
Sing sweet nightingale
Sing me a song of a night never-ending
Sing sweet nightingale
And Ill try to pretend
That tomorrows nowhere near
And theres nothing to fear
Make the night a little longer
Morning please dont come
Starshine glow a little stronger
Morning please dont come
Day dont break for you will take
My love away from me
Try to hold back the sun
I beg you morning please dont come
Try to hold back the sun
I beg you morning please dont come
Try to hold back the sun
I beg you morning please dont come
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.
quote by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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