The Nightingale Has A Lyre Of Gold
The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark's is a clarion-call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
For his song is all of the joy of life,
And we in the mad, spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
Our hearts and lips together.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Spring Song
A BLUE-BELL springs upon the ledge,
A lark sits singing in the hedge;
Sweet perfumes scent the balmy air,
And life is brimming everywhere.
What lark and breeze and bluebird sing,
Is Spring, Spring, Spring!
No more the air is sharp and cold;
The planter wends across the wold,
And, glad, beneath the shining sky
We wander forth, my love and I.
And ever in our hearts doth ring
This song of Spring, Spring!
For life is life and love is love,
'Twixt maid and man or dove and dove.
Life may be short, life may be long,
But love will come, and to its song
Shall this refrain for ever cling
Of Spring, Spring, Spring!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Spring's First Day
The sun shines in the sky of blue and gray
It is a cool and rather breezy day
The magpie lark in the Townpark does sing
Pee wee pee wee on the first day of Spring.
The Goddess of Spring she flew in overnight
And no one see her in her silent flight
She is in the South for her annual three months stay
The warmer weather soon will come our way.
In her stick nest on the blackwood the magpie her eggs incubate
Her territory is guarded by her mate
He warns the other magpies in his flute like song
That this patch of ground to her and him belong.
Were I a poet to read or to recite
A song of welcome to the Spring I'd write
To the Goddess of Spring who spreads around her green
No greater beauty than her's I have seen.
The day is windy, sunny, bright and clear
And Spring is in the Southern Hemisphere
And the wattle trees laden in their blooms of gold
Stirring in the breezes lovely to behold.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Poet's Song
I HID in the world and sang,
And I sang so loud and long
That all the ages rang
With the music of my song.
I sang of the earth and sky,
5
I sang of the whispering seas,
I sang of the mountains high,
And I sang of the flowers and trees;
I sang of the early spring,
I sang of the dawning day,
10
I sang, for I had to sing
As the young lambs have to play;
Till heaven and earth were ringing,
And all the people heard,
And they said, "We love his singing,
15
For his song is the song of the bird."
poem by Frederick George Scott
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A Sign From Nature
When you hear the blackbird singing in the warmth of a Summer's day
It is a sign from Nature that rain is on the way
Since blackbirds are natural Spring songsters in Summer their songs tell of rain
From listening to Nature's wildborn creatures weather insights we do gain
Birds can be Nature's weather forecasters of such instances quite a few
But to that you may even say tell us something that is new
Of Nature's many wonders we do become aware
But she has many secrets that with us she'll never share
The blackbird one of Nature's leading songsters in the green Season of Spring
But before rain in Summer he too is known to sing
One of Nature's many weather forecasters of weather change birds know
At the ways of our Earth Mother our wonder only grow
When in the warmth of a Summer's day the blackbird's song you hear
It is a sign from Nature that rain is very near.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Nightingale
(jude johnstone)
Yesterday I thought that I walked alone
And that love was just a memory
But a nightingale followed me back home
And my love was waiting there for me
I had lost my faith as lovers often do
When the storm clouds gather overhead
But the nightingale sang a note so true
That I knew Id lost my fear instead
And to think that I said love was for fools
And that time would never heal these old wounds
But the nightingale saved a prayer for me
In the twilight he played a faithful tune
I have heard the lark over in the vale
And Ive heard the lonesome whippoorwill
But the sweetest song is the nightingales
And I know Ill never get my fill
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Music
The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute.
From my bed I can hear him,
And the round notes flutter and tap about the room,
And hit against each other,
Blurring to unexpected chords.
It is very beautiful,
With the little flute-notes all about me,
In the darkness.
In the daytime,
The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand
And copies music with the other.
He is fat and has a bald head,
So I do not look at him,
But run quickly past his window.
There is always the sky to look at,
Or the water in the well!
But when night comes and he plays his flute,
I think of him as a young man,
With gold seals hanging from his watch,
And a blue coat with silver buttons.
As I lie in my bed
The flute-notes push against my ears and lips,
And I go to sleep, dreaming.
poem by Amy Lowell
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A Good Friend To Me
The gold billed blackbird whistling upon the the garden tree
For the past few years a good neighbour to me
He whistles every day all through the Spring
And his song to it has a distinctive ring.
From the other all dark males of his race him I know
Since on his left wing a few flight feathers white as snow
He tells other males of his kind in his song
This patch of ground to me and mine belong.
Each time I hear the blackbird pipe and sing
My thoughts return to the far northern Spring
On Spring evenings in groves by Millstreet Town
The blackbirds pipe before the sun goes down.
The blackbird whistling on the wattle tree
He only sings to proclaim territory
His neighbour males the warning in his song hear
And his border they dare not venture near.
The blackbird in the garden a good friend to me
I know him by sight each time him I see
By the few white feathers on his left side wing
And his song it takes me to the Northern Spring.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Blackbird's Song
The blackbird's song it takes me far away
To northern Land and to a distant day
His kin birds sang all day until sundown
In leafy groves just out of Millstreet Town.
A blackbird piping on a blackwood tree
Awake the nostalgic memories in me
Again I walk the lush green fields in Spring
And hear the wild birds on the hedgerows sing.
Bluebells bloom by the hedge by the bohreen
And cock pheasant often heard though seldom seen
In the knee high rushes clap his wings and crow
By their calls and songs the birds you get to know.
The distance from the home fields may be long
But whenever the migrant hear the blackbird's song
He or she will see the lushness brought by rain
And walk through fields where wild flowers bloom again.
To it the blackbird's song has a nostalgic ring
It takes the migrant to a distant Spring
And though far distant the Homeland near 'twould seem
And the dipper's song is echoing in the stream.
I thought this thing nostalgia I'd outgrown
But the blackbird's song it carries me back home
And I walk the high fields where I walked before
Up to the hill through the wood at Claramore
poem by Francis Duggan
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I woke up to a lullaby
I woke up to a lullaby
The birds sang a song for me
They sang their hearts out all the while
Dancing on the maple tree
Each bird sang a different song
That melted into one
A song full of promises
For the day that’s just begun
They sang of sorrow
Of happiness and mirth
The sang of marriage
And of birth
They sang of people laughing
And of them crying
They sang of sickness
They sang of dying
This little song
They sang for me
Made me think
Made me free
A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square
When two lovers meet in Mayfair, so the legends tell,
Songbirds sing; winter turns to spring.
Every winding street in Mayfair falls beneath the spell.
I know such enchantment can be, 'cos it happened one evening to me:
That certain night, the night we met,
There was magic abroad in the air,
There were angels dining at the Ritz,
And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.
I may be right, I may be wrong,
But I'm perfectly willing to swear
That when you turned and smiled at me
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.
The moon that lingered over London town,
Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown.
How could he know we two were so in love?
The whole darn world seemed upside down
The streets of town were paved with stars;
It was such a romantic affair.
And, as we kissed and said 'goodnight',
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square
When dawn came stealing up all gold and blue
To interrupt our rendezvous,
I still remember how you smiled and said,
"Was that a dream or was it true?"
Our homeward step was just as light
As the tap-dancing feet of Astaire
And, like an echo far away,
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square
I know 'cos I was there,
That night in Berkeley Square.
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sun Sets in Molten Gold
The sun sets in molten gold.
The evening clouds form a jade disk.
Where is he?
Dense white mist envelops the willows.
A sad flute plays “Falling Plum Blossoms.”
How many Spring days are left now?
This Feast of Lanterns should be joyful.
The weather is calm and lovely.
But who can tell if it
Will be followed by wind and rain?
poem by Li Ching Chao
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A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square
That certain night, the night we met,
There was magic abroad in the air.
There were angels dining at the ritz,
And a nightingale sang in berkeley square.
I may be right, I may be wrong,
But Im perfectly willing to swear
That when you turned and smiled at me,
A nightingale sang in berkeley square.
The moon that lingered over londontown
Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown.
How could he know that we two were so in love?
The whole darn world seemed upside down.
The streets of town were paved with stars,
It was such a romantic affair.
And as we kissed and said goodnight,
A nightingale sang in berkeley square.
~interlude~
When dawn came stealing up, all gold and blue
To interrupt our rendez-vous,
I still remember how you smiled and said,
Was that a dream? or was it true?
Our homeward step was just as light
As the dancing of fred astaire,
And like an echo far away
A nightingale sang in berkeley square.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring's Bedfellow
Spring went about the woods to-day,
The soft-foot winter-thief,
And found where idle sorrow lay
’Twixt flower and faded leaf.
She looked on him, and found him fair
For all she had been told;
She knelt adown beside him there,
And sang of days of old.
His open eyes beheld her nought,
Yet ’gan his lips to move;
But life and deeds were in her thought,
And he would sing of love.
So sang they till their eyes did meet,
And faded fear and shame;
More bold he grew, and she more sweet,
Until they sang the same.
Until, say they who know the thing,
Their very lips did kiss,
And Sorrow laid abed with Spring
Begat an earthly bliss.
poem by William Morris
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Same Old Song
Many sang these lines of love
All of them sang from heart
Each one means it from deep
Yes their love is great than all
No one is wrong in that sense
So let me sing it again for you
For whom my heart beats loud
Your smile made clouds to flee
No clue why you had chosen me
All I can sing is 'my love is true'
Many times this heart got hurt
By everyone whom it loved
I fear it may be the same again
But let me sing this song for you
Its the same old song, my love...
Sun may set, but not my love
Stars my fall, but not my love
Seasons may change, but not me
You too may change, but not me
Deep inside me, the song plays
Rivers may dry, but not my love
You grow old, but not my love
Flowers may die, but not my love
I too will die, but not my love
Deep inside me, the song plays
Rain pours and leaves, but not me
Your shade too may leave, but not me
You may doubt on me, but not me
Cause my love, I am no more me
Deep inside me, your song plays
So leave but please don't look back...
poem by Kranthi Pothineni
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Such a Sweet Kiss
You blew me such a sweet, sweet
Sweet kiss..
It rode upon the winds to find
My ruby red lips, to fall in love
Once again..
You look down at me as your
Lips spoke the words “I’ve
Found my true love and my
Lips will never kiss another”
Let not our love die in vain
For I’ve seen a nightingale
Perched upon my windowsill,
I heard the nightingale sing
So sweet, so sweet
It sang of my ruby red lips
With,
Lyric were off the chain..
Such harmony cannot will
Not,
Be perfected again..
poem by Carolyn Sears
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David Ap Gwillam At The Mass Of The Birds
THE Thrush, the Lark, and, chief, the Nightingale,
With one small bird whose name I do not ken,
Offered a Mass; the little bird was clerk,
At intervals he struck his silver bell.
The stars above that were but whitened then
The candles were; the altar was a stone;
Myself was there, with meet observances
Hearing the Mass the birds said in the dell.
It was the Lark who sang in dark's decrease
Kyrie Eleison; then the Nightingale
The Consecration chanted solemnly.
(The silver bell was rung for him in chief.)
And then the Thrush, the dweller in the vale,
Orate Fratres sang how near, how clear!
The Thrush it was who, as the sun appeared,
Held up the Monstrance, a dew-circled leaf!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Hush goes the crowd
(The music plays, the stage is lit, the crowd come in and a man starts to sing)
Hush goes the crowd,
While I sing this sad love ballad,
The story of my heart,
And I continue singing,
One by one,
The leave the theatre,
And soon I’m left alone,
Singing this ballad,
While I weep before every word,
From daybreak to midnight,
From spring till to winter,
I sing this melancholy filled ballad,
Murmuring these words,
As my throat dry’s,
(The man is on his knees)
Now in a empty theatre,
This song still plays,
Even though I’m alone,
My speech does not stop,
And from a sad ballad,
This song his turned into screams,
Shattering through,
Deafening every living being,
But it isn’t even heard,
No not even listened to,
By the muse of this song,
If only she heard my voice,
If only she would come to this theatre,
(Sound of weeping, tears hit the stage floor; the light slowly fades, till there is only silence and darkness)
Then the Hong is hit,
And I awake to sing again,
The same old lyrics,
There is a new audience in the seats,
But she is not here,
She will never be,
Where she is,
Is far away,
(The music plays again and he starts to sing then hush say’s the crowd)
poem by Paurakh Shrestha
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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!
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!
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.