En.Citatepedia^®.ro

English Grass

Come, horsemen all, from every field
And taste this rare delight,
And see what English pastures yield
To those whose hearts beat right!
Come, haste and quaff the stirrup-cup!
Turn down the empty glass!
The horn is blown, the hunt is up,
And here's our English grass!
And here are foxes swift to find
And fences strong to break,
And here are doubles steep and blind
That try the best to take,
And dappled hounds to keep in sight
And rivals you must pass
Before the long December night
Enshrouds the English grass!
And think it not a lightsome thing
Or feat to wake your scorn
To follow where the Pytchley swing
Or lead them with the Quorn ;
For men have hacked the mulga trail
And packed the mountain pass,
Yet found the boldest heart may fail
To ride the English grass.
The meadows stretch from stream to stream,
Close-bitten, firm, and sound;
No stubble stands, no plough man's team
Rips up the ravaged ground;
But level far as eye can see
Like smooth green-tinted glass,
A battle-ground for bravery,
Is spread the English grass.
Though thorns be thick, though binders lace,
Though stout be stile and rail,
Though nought but blood can live the pace,
And nought but pluck prevail,
The call's to all, the field is fair
To every creed and class;
So draw your girths, all ye who dare,
And ride the English grass!

poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Green Above The Red

Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green,
They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike and scian,
And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead,
They proudly set the Irish Green above the English Red.

But in the end throughout the land, the shameful sight was seen-
The English Red in triumph high above the Irish Green;
But well they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled,
Still saw the Green maintain its place above the English Red.

And they who saw, in after times, the Red above the Green
Were withered as the grass that dies beneath a forest screen;
Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed,
That, in some day to come, the Green should flutter o'er the Red.

Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk serene-
Because they could not bear to leave the Red above the Green;
And 'twas for this that Owen fought, and Sarsfield nobly bled-
Because their eyes were hot to see the Green above the Red.

So when the strife began again, our darling Irish Green
Was down upon the earth, while high the English Red was seen;
Yet still we held our fearless course, for something in us said,
'Before the strife is o'er you'll see the Green above the Red.'

And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean,
That we may pull the English Red below the Irish Green,
And leave our sons sweet Liberty, and smiling plenty spread
Above the land once dark with blood-the Green above the Red!

The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish Green,
And forced us to conceal it like a something foul and mean;
But yet, by Heavens! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead
Than force our hearts to leave the Green, and cotton to the Red!

We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses those who lean
On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen;
And, freely as we lift our hands, we vow our blood to shed
Once and for evermore to raise the Green above the Red.

poem by Thomas Davis
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The Green Above The Red

AIR--_Irish Molly O!_

I.

Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green,
They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike and _scian_,
And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead,
They proudly set the Irish Green above the English Red.

II.

But in the end throughout the land, the shameful sight was seen--
The English Red in triumph high above the Irish Green;
But well they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled,
Still saw the Green maintain its place above the English Red.

III.

And they who saw, in after times, the Red above the Green
Were withered as the grass that dies beneath a forest screen;
Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed,
That, in some day to come, the Green should flutter o'er the Red.

IV.

Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk serene--
Because they could not bear to leave the Red above the Green;
And 'twas for this that Owen fought, and Sarsfield nobly bled--
Because their eyes were hot to see the Green above the Red.

V.

So when the strife began again, our darling Irish Green
Was down upon the earth, while high the English Red was seen;
Yet still we held our fearless course, for something in us said,
'Before the strife is o'er you'll see the Green above the Red.'

VI.

And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean,
That we may pull the English Red below the Irish Green,
And leave our sons sweet Liberty, and smiling plenty spread
Above the land once dark with blood--_the Green above the Red_!

VII.

The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish Green,
And forced us to conceal it like a something foul and mean;
But yet, by Heavens! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead
Than force our hearts to leave the Green, and cotton to the Red!

VIII.

We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses those who lean
On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen;
And, freely as we lift our hands, we vow our blood to shed
Once and for evermore to raise the Green above the Red.

poem by Thomas Osborne Davis
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English Sunset

I want to ride the range
Across those skies of black
I want to see for myself
And see me coming back
And when Ive gone the distance
Ill be making tracks
For an english sunset.
Were on a runaway train
Rolling down the track
And where its taking us to
Who knows where its at
But if we hold together
We can make it back
For an english sunset
We want an english sunset.
I feel the rhythm of the earth
In my soul tonight
May it never fade away
And Ive decided I can live
With humility
And the sad decay
cos thats the english way.
We keep the faith alive
In everything we do
And at the end of the road
We still keep coming through
And though its sad and sorry
What else can we do
Its an english sunset
An english sunset.
I feel the rhythm of the earth
In my soul tonight
May it never fade away
And Ive decided they can wait
For the requiem
We take it day by day
cos thats the english way
I saw the english sunset.

song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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yes, what if God does not speak english at all?

you were not born yesterday
and probably heard it before

that if your God does not speak english
then he must not be God

of course, something arrogant
hangs in the air
of this effortless superiority that
'englishers'
'english-plongplangs'
clai m, which, of course, we
always oppose and dub
as prettry dumb silly

but anyhow, yes, we are asked again
what if?
what if, this God, does not really speak English?

well, of course, he is still God
and he must not have considered the english language
that important

and i agree, even if i speak it,
i still have this language
of my soul,

albeit, in english, for you,
who does not speak my own language,

yes, of course, for you to perhaps
understand,

but i like it though, this thought
that God does not speak
the english language, lest, he may sound

so englishly, oh well,
arrogant.....

dear God
do you really...not speak english?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Holiday In Waikiki

I won a competition in a little column in my local paper.
So I packed my bags and flew across the sea all on my local paper.
I sailed to hawaii in the u.s.a.
Im just an english boy who won a holiday in waikiki.
I didnt realize it was commercialized when I unpacked my cases,
Because a genuine hawaii ukulele cost me 30 guineas,
And even when Im swimming I have to pay.
Im just an english boy who won a holiday in waikiki.
Oh yeah, yeah.
Across the coral sands I saw a hula hula dancer, looking pretty.
I asked her where she came from and she said to me,
I come from new york city,
And my mother is italian,
And my dads a greek.
Im just an english boy who won a holiday in waikiki.
Its a hooka hooka on the shiny briny on a wake a hola[? ],
And in a little shack they had a little sign that said coca cola,
And even all the grass skirts were pvc.
Im just an english boy who won a holiday in waikiki.
Oh yeah, yeah.
In waikiki
In waikiki

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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English Roundabout

(colin moulding)
People rushing round with no time to spare.
Im so dizzy,
Im neither here nor there.
In this traffic jam,
I just want to shout,
Let me off o this english roundabout
English roundabout
And all the the horns go beep! beep!
All the people follow like sheep,
Im full of light and sound,
Making my head go round, round.
Everyone is cursing under their breath,
Im a passenger,
I feel close to death,
Hopeless situation,
I have no doubt.
Stop the madness, english roundabout
English roundabout
And all the cars go brum! brum!
And in my ears I feel a hum,
The neons blind my eyes,
All those tempers rise, rise.
Cars and buses go,
Puffing out their smoke,
Roll my window down,
I begin to choke.
I have had enough,
I just want to get out.
Let me off o this english roundabout.
English roundabout.

song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beginnings

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.

Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Beginning

1914-18

It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.

Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud,
When the English began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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In A Dark Wood Wandering

The moans and screams of dying men;
a scene and sound surreal.
The flower of French Chivalry
cut down by English steel.
English Harry has won this day
on this wet and muddy ground.
So many high born men laid low,
but I am still around.
It was my blood that ransomed me
when others’ blood was shed.
I am the Duke of Orleans.
A poet, some have said.
In the aftermath of battle;
wounded, left to bleed.
Sir Richard Waller found me
and attended to my needs.
So today I am his prisoner,
we’ll become friends in time.
Now I am bound for England
as a “guest” of the English crown.
We’d had the numbers and the strength
to bring proud Henry down.
His Yeoman archers turned the tide
on this awful muddy ground.
Beset by woods on either flank
No room to strike or move.
It was our Constables’ worst mistake
and the last, as time would prove
Like a dark and deadly rain they fell
out of a clear blue sky.
Here on the field of Agincourt
where Princes came to die.

poem by John F. McCullagh
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The Mower's Song

My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

But these, while I with Sorrow pine,
Grew more luxuriant still and fine;
That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd,
But had a Flower on either side;
When Juliana came, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

Unthankful Meadows, could you so
A fellowship so true forego,
And in your gawdy May-games meet,
While I lay trodden under feet?
When Juliana came , and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

But what you in Compassion ought,
Shall now by my Revenge be wrought:
And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all,
Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

And thus, ye Meadows, which have been
Companions of my thoughts more green,
Shall now the Heraldry become
With which I shall adorn my Tomb;
For Juliana comes, and She
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

poem by Andrew Marvell
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English is a mixture

English is a mixture
You can see in theatre
English is neither paternal
Nor maternal
No word no grammer
Make english finer
Uniformity english
Make life accomplished.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Irish-English

Having stolen all the goods and gone,
The English are back in Ireland
Seeking the good of man
In folksong of the past.
Irish in acadamia
Have left the country behind
Preferring to live where the air comes in,
Leave the stench to the English mind.
It's neither one thing nor another
But a blend that works the best.
But when it comes to English-Irish
The latter think the opposite's blessed.
Living by the nostrils the Irish whiff the past,
'The English they can have it. By the future we are cast.'

poem by Douglas Scotney
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Our Heritage

This is our heritage; the far-flung grass,
The golden stubble and the dark-red moor;
Men pass and perish as the swift years pass,
But wide and wind-swept still the fields endure.
This is our heritage; the love of sport,
A fair ambition and a friendly strife,
The rivalry of farm and camp and court,
The keen endeavour of a clean, hard life.
The hoofs of horses on the trampled lea,
The crash and rattle of the broken rail
Where the first flight ride reckless, knee to knee,
And bold men face the dangers of the vale.
The cry of hounds, the holloa and the horn ;
The lean red shadows where the foxes run;
To these and all their challenge we were born,
And these we leave behind us, sire to son.
This is the heritage that none can take,
The gift we hold, the gift we give again,
And this the spirit that no Time can break,
So long as England and her fields remain.

poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Out Of The Fulness Of The Heart The Mouth Speaketh

In answer to those who have said that English Poets
give no personal love to their country.

ENGLAND, my country, austere in the clamorous council of nations,
Set in the seat of the mighty, wielding the sword of the strong,
Have we but sung of your glory, firm in eternal foundations?
Are not your woods and your meadows the core of our heart and our song?
O dear fields of my country, grass growing green, glowing golden,
Green in the patience of winter, gold in the pageant of spring,
Oaks and young larches awaking, wind-flowers and violets blowing,
What, if God sets us to singing, what save you shall we sing?
Who but our England is fair through the veil of her poets' praises,
What but the pastoral face, the fruitful, beautiful breast?
Are not your poets' meadows starred with the English daisies?
Were not the wings of their song-birds fledged in an English nest?
Songs of the leaves in the sunlight, songs of the fern-brake in shadow,
Songs of the world of the woods and songs of the marsh and the mere,
Are they not English woods, dear English marshland and meadow?
Have not your poets loved you? England, are you not dear?

Shoulders of upland brown laid dark to the sunset's bosom,
Living amber of wheat, and copper of new-ploughed loam,
Downs where the white sheep wander, little gardens in blossom,
Roads that wind through the twilight up to the lights of home.
Lanes that are white with hawthorn, dykes where the sedges shiver,
Hollows where caged winds slumber, moorlands where winds wake free,
Sowing and reaping and gleaning, spring and torrent and river,
Are they not more, by worlds, than the whole of the world can be?

Is there a corner of land, a furze-fringed rag of a by-way,
Coign of your foam-white cliffs or swirl of your grass-green waves,
Leaf of your peaceful copse, or dust of your strenuous highway,
But in our hearts is sacred, dear as our cradles, our graves?
Is not each bough in your orchards, each cloud in the skies above you,
Is not each byre or homestead, furrow or farm or fold,
Dear as the last dear drops of the blood in the hearts that love you,
Filling those hearts till the love is more than the heart can hold?
Therefore the song breaks forth from the depths of the hidden fountain
Singing your least frail flower, your raiment of seas and skies,
Singing your pasture and cornfield, fen and valley and mountain,
England, desire of my heart, England, delight of mine eyes!
Take my song too, my country: many a son and debtor
Pays you in praise and homage out of your gifts' full store;
Life of my life, my England, many will praise you better,
None, by the God that made you, ever can love you more!

poem by Edith Nesbit
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Composed In The Valley Near Dover, On The Day Of Landing

HERE, on our native soil, we breathe once more.
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;--
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round
With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found
Myself so satisfied in heart before.
Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free,
My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see,
With such a dear Companion at my side.

poem by William Wordsworth
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English Dream

I once had a dream
A feeling inside
A yearning so bad you have to shout it out
Hey kid look at me
You can make it real
You can get it if you want
When I first started out
They shut all the doors
But I laughed at all the doors
And I kicked them down
Heres my energy for you
Step into the light while you still feel young
I look in your eyes
And I reach for your hands
Well Ill do anything
To make you understand
That Im still the seeker
For your english dream
Dont you give up trying
And dont you let me down
The english dream - dont let me down
The english dream - dont let me down
The english dream - dont let me down
The english dream - dont let me down
I look in your eyes
And I reach for your hands
Well Ill do anything
To help you understand
That Im still the seeker
For your english dream
Dont you
Dont you give up trying
And dont you let me down
The english dream - dont let me down
The english dream - dont let me down
The english dream - dont let me down
The english dream - dont let me down

song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Silver Treetop School For Boys

Heres the town in which I live petunia green
Heres the shop and heres the man who sold me laces for my shoes
There is mr.marcus. boys they say hes mad
heres the battle that they won silver treetop school for boys
Early days were good as gold
An apple here an apple there
And everywhere a yes sir, no sir
They made me roll the cricket pitch once a day
Ive never been so happy than at silver treetop school for boys
The mowing machine was leaving small piles of grass
That when the ? ? ? had risen to the pipe of mr.marcus
The smell of teaching fell upon the cricket field
Smiling, laughing, rolling about at silver treetop school for boys.
Hey there
They call in the staff room
They call in the canteen
Hey come and look at what I found
I found some boys and masters sitting
On the cricket ground at silver treetop school for boys
The english master, sir, he wores a purple mask
And the head, was usually sad, was swinging from a tree
Mr.brown the physics man is off his head
And everyone just loves the grass at silver treetop school for boys
Lalalalalalala lalala lalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalala lalalalalalalalala

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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English Eyes

What youre sayin it never really crossed my mind
I hear playin and everybodys keepin time
Im recallin that girl I met in london town
She was strange, young and tender and narrowed all my choices down
Chorus:
We ran away into the night hypnotized
You carved your name right next to mine, english eyes
I was tryin to read her lips and knew the time was drawing near
I forgot what she said but I remember how she whispered in my ear
I can hear laughter coming from the places we once knew
There were stories from a stranger out of nowhere but they seemed so true
Chorus
English eyes, english eyes
(instrumental break)
English eyes
Red sky warning, girl you really put a spell on me
Never told me bout the daddy you refused to please
You took the bishop when the king was standing right in front of you
Theres nothing in it if I cant have a girl with eyes like you
Chorus repeats 2x
English eyes, yeah, english eyes, english eyes

song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People are always saying, English, English, English rose, and I just feel so completely different.

quote by Kristin Scott Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through the field I See

A field of green grass awaits me.
I have been on this grass before and it brought suffering and
anguish.
I wait for the pure colors of pink and red to cover all of the
envious grass.
In this field of colors I have not experienced.
Many a people, hand in hand, take this path of red and pink.
Through many a people take the field of grass choosing the
poison of which they will drink.

poem by Stephen Howard
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