A Good Knight In Prison
Wearily, drearily,
Half the day long,
Flap the great banners
High over the stone;
Strangely and eerily
Sounds the wind's song,
Bending the banner-poles.
While, all alone,
Watching the loophole's spark,
Lie I, with life all dark,
Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd
Fast to the stone,
The grim walls, square-letter'd
With prison'd men's groan.
Still strain the banner-poles
Through the wind's song,
Westward the banner rolls
Over my wrong.
poem by William Morris
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Related quotes
In Prison
Wearily, drearily,
Half the day long,
Flap the great banners
High over the stone;
Strangely and eerily
Sounds the wind's song,
Bending the banner-poles.
While, all alone,
Watching the loophole's spark,
Lie I, with life all dark,
Feet tether'd, hands fetter'd
Fast to the stone,
The grim walls, square-letter'd
With prison'd men's groan.
Still strain the banner-poles
Through the wind's song,
Westward the banner rolls
Over my wrong.
poem by William Morris
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What Shall I Do For the Land that Bred Me
What shall I do for the land that bred me,
Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?—
Be under her banner and live for her honour:
Under her banner I’ll live for her honour.
CHORUS. Under her banner live for her honour.
Not the pleasure, the pay, the plunder,
But country and flag, the flag I am under—
There is the shilling that finds me willing
To follow a banner and fight for honour.
CH. We follow her banner, we fight for her honour.
Call me England’s fame’s fond lover,
Her fame to keep, her fame to recover.
Spend me or end me what God shall send me,
But under her banner I live for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we march for her honour.
Where is the field I must play the man on?
O welcome there their steel or cannon.
Immortal beauty is death with duty,
If under her banner I fall for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we fall for her honour.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Today... 'My Banner
The Banner of Jesus is flying high
there nailed upon the cross was He to die.
With arms opened wide as a flag unfurled
as men passed by and their insults hurled.
Upon Calvary's hilltop the banner flies
as Jesus lays down His life for us and dies.
There the veil of the temple was torn in two
and heavens door opened we go through.
He said 'When I am hung upon the tree'
then I will draw Jews and Gentiles to me, '
To all who believe the cross leads to heaven
and all who come in repentance are forgiven.
Outstretched upon Calvary's cross I see
the full extent of Jesus' love for me.
The 'agape' love of God was outpoured
for this poor, vile sinner by Christ adored.
From the Root of Jesse the banner flies
'Come, enter the gates of heaven it cries.'
The Sovereign Lord beckons us to come
and calls us to our great heavenly home.
There praise shall be my glorious battle cry
and His great love my soul shall occupy.
Called into His Banqueting house above
where His great banner over me is love.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Returned.... (Primitive)
my soul hath returned
to the beginnings of faith,
before written history,
before there were words.
when god walked naked in the darkness,
her long hair birthing leaves
on branches that wept.
the stones whispered praise,
the trees bowed in prayer!
the gutteral moan of the wind
haunts the walls of the cave.
i dream of fire,
both shaking and sweating with cold.
while god talks with the wolves,
the turtles, and the owls.
and sounds mimic night
making love with herself!
dawn calls from a faraway shore;
the waterfall hesitates,
as if in waiting!
unseen hands rub stick against stick,
till the spark of dreams ignites!
moan, groan, and the flap of wings...
and the only name be heartbeat!
i am stone, i am tree,
i am river, i am wind...
i am the sound of nothing,
and the face of the formless!
primitive, and naked,
i walk with god...
and nurse at the breasts of infinity!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sung for norway's riflemen
Fly the banner, fly the banner!
For our freedom fight!
'Neath the banner, 'neath the banner,
Riflemen unite!
Graybeard in the Storting
Gives his vote for right and truth,
Rifle-voice supporting
Of our armèd youth.
Music runeful
Ring out tuneful
Bullets sent point-blank,
Fiery coursing,
Freedom forcing
Way to royal rank;
They from silent valleys
To the Storting's rallies
Bring the clear 'Rah! Rah!'
And there clamors o'er us
Loud the rifle chorus,
Piercing and repeated: 'Rah! Rah!
Rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah, rah-rah.'
As the lingering echo rattles,
Listens sure our Mother Norway,
That her sons can go the war-way,
Fight her freedom's future battles.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Earlier Poems : Hymn Of The Moravian Nuns Of Bethlehem
At The Consecration Of Pulaski's Banner.
When the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowléd head;
And the censer burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung
The crimson banner, that with prayer
Had been consecrated there.
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.
'Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale.
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
'Take thy banner! and, beneath
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it, till our homes are free!
Guard it! God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
'Take thy banner! But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him! By our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,
Spare him! he our love hath shared!
Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared!
'Take thy banner! and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee.'
The warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A Haunting Song!
A haunting song I hear comes like this..
The song.... coming..... in the wind…
The song coming...... in the wind…
The song coming in the wind...
The song spontaneously flows making eyes foggy…!
The song makes even the stone melt…!
The song makes even dead tree resurrect with leaves…!
The song kisses in many languages…!
The song makes forest animals listen with dizziness…!
When night Moon blossoms as breeze is walking,
A boy in blue colour stands blowing flute forever
And forever my heart melts in the thought of his love!
poem by Ramesh T A
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X
I have decorated this banner to honor my brother.
Our parents did not want his name used publicly
-- from an unnamed child's banner in the AIDS Memorial Quilt.
The boatpond, broken off, looks back at the sky.
I remember looking at you, X, this way,
taking in your red hair, your eyes' light, and I miss you
so. I know,
you are you, and real, standing there in the doorway,
whether dead or whether living, real. -- Then Y
said, "who will remember me three years after I die?
What is there for my eye
to read then?"
The lamb should not have given
his wool.
He was so small. At the end, X, you were so small.
Playing with a stone
on your bedspread at the edge of the ocean.
Submitted by Jimmy Lo
poem by Jean Valentine
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A Banner
Overwhelmed,
Presence,
Shelter,
Inheritance,
Performance;
Wash and take up a banner of peace,
For around us are full of wars!
Wash, ash, was, saw, as, has;
It is shaking like a snake and it is sinking! !
But take up a banner of peace to save your life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem at the Consecration of Pulaski's Banner
When the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowled head;
And the censer burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung
The crimson banner, that with prayer
Had been consecrated there.
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.
"Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale.
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
"Take thy banner! and, beneath
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it, till our homes are free!
Guard it! God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
"Take thy banner! But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him! By our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,
Spare him! he our love hath shared!
Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared!
"Take thy banner! and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee."
The warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Wind Rising in The Alleys
Wind rising in the alleys
My spirit lifts in you like a banner streaming free of hot walls.
You are full of unspent dreams….
You are laden with beginnings….
There is hope in you… not sweet… acrid as blood in the mouth.
Come into my tossing dust
Scattering the peace of old deaths,
Wind rising in the alleys,
Carrying stuff of flame.
poem by Lola Ridge
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The Wind
I saw you toss the kites on high
And blow the birds about the sky;
And all around I heard you pass,
Like ladies' skirts across the grass--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
I saw the different things you did,
But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call,
I could not see yourself at all--
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
O you that are so strong and cold,
O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree,
Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long,
O wind, that sings so loud a song!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Home, Sweet Home
Sharers of a common country,
They had met in deadly strife;
Men who should have been as brothers
Madly sought each other's life.
In the silence of the even,
When the cannon's lips were dumb,
Thoughts of home and all its loved ones
To the soldier's heart would come.
On the margin of a river,
'Mid the evening's dews and damps,
Could be heard the sounds of music
Rising from two hostile camps.
One was singing of its section
Down in Dixie, Dixie's land,
And the other of the banner
Waved so long from strand to strand.
In the land where Dixie's ensign
Floated o'er the hopeful slave,
Rose the song that freedom's banner,
Starry-lighted, long might wave.
From the fields of strife and carnage,
Gentle thoughts began to roam,
And a tender strain of music
Rose with words of "Home, Sweet Home."
Then the hearts of strong men melted,
For amid our grief and sin
Still remains that "touch of nature,"
Telling us we all are kin.
In one grand but gentle chorus,
Floating to the starry dome,
Came the words that brought them nearer,
Words that told of "Home, Sweet Home."
For awhile, all strife forgotten,
They were only brothers then,
Joining in the sweet old chorus,
Not as soldiers, but as men.
Men whose hearts would flow together,
Though apart their feet might roam,
Found a tie they could not sever,
In the mem'ry of each home.
Never may the steps of carnage
Shake our land from shore to shore,
But may mother, home and Heaven,
Be our watchwords evermore.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The wind calls no one by their name
The wind calls no one by their name-
But howls and howls, before it wane.
Awakens at the dark of moon,
Circling mountains in the gloom,
Whistling high it's sovereign song-
That no one's on earth for long.
The wind has syllables unknown,
And for millenia has blown
Its keening cry, out on the plains,
Its fearsome dirge, that sounds like pain-
If you would learn the ways of wind,
All your days on earth would end.
The wind's capricious and alone,
And of true loneliness, it moans;
It knows no warmth of company,
But bland caresses of the trees.
The wind could take you far away-
To where no words could ever say.
poem by Patti Masterman
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A Criminal Mind
I Lyrics and Words by Lawrence Gowan
from his album Strange Animal
You've seen my hands are steady
You've seen my face before
Soon you can take your last look
And they'll close the door
I stand accused before you
I have no tears to cry
And you will never break me
Until the day I die
A criminal mind was all I
All I've ever known
They've tried to reform me
Cause I'm made of cold stone
My criminal mind is all I
All I've ever had
Ask one who's known me
If I'm really so bad...
I am
I've spent my life behind these steel bars
I've paid my debt in time
But being brought to justice
That was my only crime
I don't regret action
I'd do the same again
These prison walls secure me
And I'm numb to pain
A criminal mind was all I
All I've ever known
They've tried to reform me
But I'm made of cold stone
My criminal mind is all I
All I've ever had
Ask one who's known me
If I'm really so bad...
I am
Before you hand me over
Before you read my sentence
I'd like to say a few words
Here in my own defense
Some people struggle daily
They struggle with their conscience 'til the end
I have no guilt to haunt me
I feel no wrong intent
A criminal mind is all I
All I've ever known
Don't try to reform me
Cause I'm made of cold stone
My criminal mind is all I
All I've ever had
Ask one who's known me
If I'm really so bad...
I am
Oh I am
Oh I am
I'm made of cold stone
Made of cold stone
I'm just like these prison walls
A criminal mind
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Others
This was the gleam then that lured from far
Your son and my son to the Holy War:
Your son and my son for the accolade
With the banner of Christ over them, in steel arrayed.
All quiet roads of life ran on to this;
When they were little for their mother's kiss.
Little feet hastening, so soft, unworn,
To the vows and the vigil and the road of thorn.
Your son and my son, the downy things,
Sheltered in mother's breast, by mother's wings,
Should they be broken in the Lord's wars-Peace!
He Who has given them-are they not His?
Dream of knight's armour and the battle-shout,
Fighting and falling at the last redoubt,
Dream of long dying on the field of slain;
This was the dream that lured, nor lured in vain.
These were the Voices they heard from far;
Bugles and trumpets of the Holy War.
Your son and my son have heard the call,
Your son and my son have stormed the wall.
Your son and my son, clean as new swords;
Your man and my man and now the Lord's!
Your son and my son for the Great Crusade,
With the banner of Christ over them-our knights new-made.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Neverending Song (The Song Of A mournful Heart)
Hear the child’s song,
As he sings his mournful cry to the skies above his head.
The only music in his words is the rain drops on the roof.
He watches with tears flowing down his cheeks,
He watches the wind blow the branches that scape against the walls.
Hear his song as he longs for a loving touch,
A mother’s hug.
In his own silent afterlife he watches,
As the world carries on around him.
His arms wrapped tight around his legs,
His hair uncut and knotted,
As tears stain his cheeks with salt water so rich,
Hear his silent song as he sings to those few who see him,
In his solitary windowsill in the house that was once his home he sits and Sings.
Nothing mattering to him but that that has past,
Nothing breaking his everlasting chorus,
But be careful do not listen for to long or his sorrow shall become your own,
You shall fall into rhythm with his voice,
And you will not leave,
But stay and melt into the stars that he rests his feet apon.
His prison will become your sanctuary,
His tomb, your grave,
His song, shall be your own form of reality.
In the dark stairwell you will stay with him.
Watching the endless lightnight lighting the sky,
The endless thunder the keeping time with the wind which is the music to his song.
You will fade to nothing at his feet, and he won’t even pause.
He will continue his cry to the god he once knew,
Crying for salvation for forgiveness, for the one thing that he can never have again.
And his tears will flow on running down his face to his tattered clothing,
His eyes ever fixed on the dark sky outside that expresses his pain, his agony,
His heart still in a ody somewhere, never to beat the beat of life again,
And still he will sing his mournful cry.
Listen to the child’s cry, but don’t stay long,
Or you will become the rain that beats down on the fortress around him,
Your own sorrowful tears that you shed for him, shall become the music,
To the child’s mournful cry.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Long Song Comin
Politician 'bout to make his speech
Signal for attention, please
Then he shuffled his notes
And wiped his sweating brow
I looked at my friend next to me
And we don't dare agree
Before this is over
We'll wish we woulda left right now
'Cause it sounds like a long song comin'
And it looks like he might throw in a little dancin', too
Yes, it sounds like a long song comin'
And buddy, listen buddy
We got better things to listen to
Lady from a church bizarre
Was smiling from her head to her feet
All the way down to her feet
That she couldn't see
She started speeking her piece
I said "Stop, Wait a minute, please
Before you start talkin'
I wish you'd please listen to me."
'Cause it sounds like a long song comin'
And though some of the things you say might be true
It still sounds like a long song comin'
And baby, listen lady, I got better things to listen to
Yes, it sounds like a long song comin'
And it looks like you might throw in a little dancin', too
Yes, it sounds like a long song comin'
And buddy, listen buddy, I got better things to listen to
Say, so it sounds like a long song comin'
And it sounds like some just might be true
Still it sounds like a long song comin'
And buddy, listen buddy, I got better things to listen to
And buddy, listen buddy, we got better things to listen to
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Banner of Union
Bring the Harp of the West, and the Pipes of the North,
When our Trumpet note calls to the field;
Let the men of old Scotia and Erin come forth,
And our foemen shall see who must yield.
Side by side in the battle, like granite we'll stand,
With a will and a might none shall sever;
For Glory or Death, we will twine in one wreath
Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle for ever.
Our Banner of Union shall float in the wind
Over hearts that have never yet quailed;
The sword shall be drawn and the banner be borne,
By hands that have never yet failed.
Sons of heather! your fame in the fight
Is as old as your glens and your valleys,
Men of Hibernia! let Right ask for Might;
And where is the spirit but rallies.
Side by side in the battle, like granite we'll stand,
With a will and a might none shall sever;
For Glory or Death, we will twine in one wreath
Rose, Shamrock, and Thistle for ever.
poem by Eliza Cook
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Evensong
It is late, on a cold, dark, wintry afternoon;
Up high in a tree, a small bird merrily croons.
Trade in the town, has now begun to wind down,
And taking centre stage, is the bird’s sweet sound.
Like an operatic singer, his voice soars high,
And his song delights many, as they pass by.
Your ears can not help, but hear his loud call,
As the sun, once again, sets and darkness falls.
He sings for joy, at the very top of his voice;
To listen to his song, you have little choice.
He sits at the very top of the tallest tree,
Singing so loudly; his heart full of glee.
His plaintive call pierces the cool air,
As he sings his song, without a care.
A pure quality, his sweet song holds,
And he sings it out, so bright and bold.
His singsong attracts many a nice comment;
His performance appears to be Heaven sent.
Of his captivated audience, he is unaware;
His song boasts beauty, beyond compare.
Like a church choir, as they sing evensong,
This small bird sings so very keen and strong.
Through the dark streets, home, I wearily wind;
Sad to be leaving the bird’s sweet song behind.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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