Song X. - The lovely Delia smiles again!
The lovely Delia smiles again!
That killing frown has left her brow;
Can she forgive my jealous pain,
And give me back my angry vow?
Love is an April's doubtful day;
Awhile we see the tempest lower,
Anon the radiant heaven survey,
And quite forget the flitting shower.
The flowers, that hung their languid head,
Are burnish'd by the transient rains;
The vines their wonted tendrils spread,
And double verdure gilds the plains.
The sprightly birds, that droop'd no less
Beneath the power of rain and wind,
In every raptured note express
The joy I feel-when thou art kind.
poem by William Shenstone
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Elegy V. He Compares the Turbulence of Love With the Tranquillity of Friendship
From Love, from angry Love's inclement reign
I pass awhile to Friendship's equal skies;
Thou, generous Maid! reliev'st my partial pain,
And cheer'st the victim of another's eyes.
'Tis thou, Melissa, thou deserv'st my care;
How can my will and reason disagree?
How can my passion live beneath despair?
How can my bosom sigh for aught but thee?
Ah! dear Melissa! pleased with thee to rove,
My soul has yet survived its dreariest time
Ill can I bear the various clime of Love!
Love is a pleasing, but a various clime.
So smiles immortal Maro's favourite shore,
Parthenope, with every verdure crown'd;
When straight Vesuvio's horrid cauldrons roar,
And the dry vapour blasts the regions round.
Oh, blissful regions, oh, unrivall'd plains,
When Maro to these fragrant haunts retired!
Oh, fatal realms, and oh, accursed domains,
When Pliny, 'mid sulphureous clouds, expired!
So smiles the surface of the treacherous main,
As o'er its waves the peaceful halcyons play;
When soon rude winds their wonted rule regain,
And sky and ocean mingle in the fray.
But let or air contend, or ocean rave,
Even Hope subside, amid the billows tost;
Hope, still emergent, still contemns the wave,
And not a feature's wonted smile is lost.
poem by William Shenstone
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Song I
FROM THE FRENCH OF CARDINAL BERNIS.
I.
FRUIT of Aurora's tears, fair rose,
On whose soft leaves fond zephyrs play,
Oh! queen of flowers, thy buds disclose,
And give thy fragrance to the day;
Unveil thy transient charms:--ah, no!
A little be thy bloom delay'd,
Since the same hour that bids thee blow,
Shall see thee droop thy languid head.
II.
But go! and on Themira's breast
Find, happy flower! thy throne and tomb;
While, jealous of a fate so blest,
How shall I envy thee thy doom!
Should some rude hand approach thee there,
Guard the sweet shrine thou wilt adorn;
Ah! punish those who rashly dare,
And for my rivals keep thy thorn.
III.
Love shall himself thy boughs compose,
And bid thy wanton leaves divide;
He'll show thee how, my lovely rose,
To deck her bosom, not to hide:
And thou shalt tell the cruel maid
How frail are youth and beauty's charms,
And teach her, ere her own shall fade,
To give them to her lover's arms.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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The Wren’s Nest
I TOOK the wren's nest;--
Heaven forgive me!
Its merry architects so small
Had scarcely finished their wee hall,
That, empty still, and neat and fair,
Hung idly in the summer air.
The mossy walls, the dainty door,
Where Love should enter and explore,
And Love sit carolling outside,
And Love within chirp multiplied;--
I took the wren's nest;--
Heaven forgive me!
How many hours of happy pains
Through early frosts and April rains,
How many songs at eve and morn
O'er springing grass and greening corn,
Before the pretty house was made!
One little minute, only one,
And she'll fly back, and find it--gone!
I took the wren's nest:
Bird, forgive me!
Thou and thy mate, sans let, sans fear,
Ye have before you all the year,
And every wood holds nooks for you,
In which to sing and build and woo;
One piteous cry of birdish pain--
And ye'll begin your life again,
And quite forget the lost, lost home
In many a busy home to come.--
But I?--Your wee house keep I must
Until it crumble into dust.
I took the wren's nest:
God forgive me!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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The Necessity Of Self–Abasement
Source of love, my brighter sun,
Thou alone my comfort art;
See, my race is almost run;
Hast thou left this trembling heart?
In my youth thy charming eyes
Drew me from the ways of men;
Then I drank unmingled joys;
Frown of thine saw never then.
Spouse of Christ was then my name;
And, devoted all to thee,
Strangely jealous I became,
Jealous of this self in me.
Thee to love, and none beside,
Was my darling, sole employ;
While alternately I died,
Now of grief, and now of joy.
Through the dark and silent night
On thy radiant smiles I dwelt;
And to see the dawning light
Was the keenest pain I felt.
Thou my gracious teacher wert;
And thine eye, so close applied,
While it watched thy pupil's heart,
Seemed to look at none beside.
Conscious of no evil drift,
This, I cried, is love indeed—
'Tis the giver, not the gift,
Whence the joys I feel proceed.
But, soon humbled and laid low,
Stript of all thou hast conferred,
Nothing left but sin and woe,
I perceived how I had erred.
Oh, the vain conceit of man,
Dreaming of a good his own,
Arrogating all he can,
Though the Lord is good alone!
He the graces thou hast wrought
Makes subservient to his pride;
Ignorant that one such thought
Passes all his sin beside.
Such his folly—proved, at last
By the loss of that repose,
Self–complacence cannot taste,
Only love divine bestows.
'Tis by this reproof severe,
And by this reproof alone,
His defects at last appear,
Man is to himself made known.
Learn, all earth! that feeble man,
Sprung from this terrestrial clod,
Nothing is, and nothing can;
Life and power are all in God.
poem by William Cowper
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When The Rain Comes
Youve come to me again my friend. Ive been waiting so long.
Life seems strange and hard sometimes, maybe I wont make it this time.
Oh theyve taken all I have, but I just need whats left of today, and you can wash it all away.
When it all comes down and Im feeling tired and afraid,
Youre always there, and seem come when Ive nothing left to give away.
Now I wait for your winds to come and give me breath for another day, and your rain to wash me.
I feel the rain coming. I feel it in my heart, take away my pain.
I feel the rain coming. wash me down, wash me down.
Here comes the rain. hold me now, just for awhile.
I feel like a candle flame in the wind. the dust of my deeds past, covers me, like a fading lie.
I feel the rain coming. I feel it in my heart, wash away my pain.
Wash me down, wash me down. I feel the rain coming.
Here comes the rain.
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain and Pain
I'm standing in the rain
Its washing this pain away
The rain makes me weak
But I feel so alive
The pain is finally gone
Until the rain stops
Then the pain comes back
But the hurting is worse
I wish the rain could drown this pain
Take it away
Cause its killing me
If its not one thing its another
When it rains I go outside
Just to feel it on my skin
It makes me feel alive
And it takes away this pain
And I can cry cause I know no one can see
Over and over again I wish that I could fly away
Fly away to another day
Another day where this pain isn't here
poem by Heather Hill
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Rain and Pain
I'm standing in the rain
Its washing this pain away
The rain makes me weak
But I feel so alive
The pain is finally gone
Until the rain stops
Then the pain comes back
But the hurting is worse
I wish the rain could drown this pain
Take it away
Cause its killing me
If its not one thing its another
When it rains I go outside
Just to feel it on my skin
It makes me feel alive
And it takes away this pain
And I can cry cause I know no one can see
Over and over again I wish that I could fly away
Fly away to another day
Another day where this pain isn't here
poem by Espn Chick
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The Magnetic Lady To Her Patient
I.
'Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;
My hand is on thy brow,
My spirit on thy brain;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;
And from my fingers flow
The powers of life, and like a sign,
Seal thee from thine hour of woe;
And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.
II.
'Sleep, sleep on! I love thee not;
But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine
Might then have charmed his agony
As I another's--my heart bleeds
For thine.
III.
'Sleep, sleep, and with the slumber of
The dead and the unborn
Forget thy life and love;
Forget that thou must wake forever;
Forget the world's dull scorn;
Forget lost health, and the divine
Feelings which died in youth's brief morn;
And forget me, for I can never
Be thine.
IV.
'Like a cloud big with a May shower,
My soul weeps healing rain
On thee, thou withered flower!
It breathes mute music on thy sleep
Its odour calms thy brain!
Its light within thy gloomy breast
Spreads like a second youth again.
By mine thy being is to its deep
Possessed.
V.
'The spell is done. How feel you now?'
'Better—Quite well,' replied
The sleeper.--'What would do
You good when suffering and awake?
What cure your head and side?--'
‘What would cure, that would kill me, Jane:
And as I must on earth abide
Awhile, yet tempt me not to break
My chain.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Im Jealous
If I were the moon, I could
Catch your eye--Im jealous of the moon
If I were the wind, I would
Make you fly--Im jealous of that too
I wish I were the sun shining
On your face--caressing like a lover
I would wrap you in a warm embrace--
Wed be holdin one another
(Im jealous of the sun)
Im jealous of the sun
(jealous of the sun) oh,
Im jealous of the sun
Oh, I dont wanna share you with
Nothing else--i gotta have you to myself
Oh--i cant help it--Im so in love--
I just cant get you close enough, no
[chorus:]
When the suns on your skin--
I cant hold it in
And I know its a sin--
But Im jealous of the sun
I wish I were the rain runnin down your
Neck--and drippin from your fingers
Then I could be the drops rollin off your
Back--Id love to let it linger
(jealous of the rain) oh,
Im jealous of the rain
Oh, I dont wanna share you with nothing
Else--i gotta have you to myself
Oh--i cant help it--Im so in love--
I just cant get you close enough, no
[chorus:]
When it rains on your face--
I almost can taste
Your beauty, your grace--
Im jealous of the rain
[instrumental solo]
[chorus:]
When the winds in your hair--
The way it blows through the air
Oh, its seems so unfair, yeah
[chorus:]
When the moons in your eyes--
You seem to light up the skies, yeah
And I realize--
Im even jealous of the moon
song performed by by Shania Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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April Rain
The April rain, the April rain,
Comes slanting down in fitful showers,
Then from the furrow shoots the grain,
And banks are fledged with nestling flowers;
And in grey shaw and woodland bowers
The cuckoo through the April rain
Calls once again.
The April sun, the April sun,
Glints through the rain in fitful splendour,
And in grey shaw and woodland dun
The little leaves spring forth and tender
Their infant hands, yet weak and slender,
For warmth towards the April sun,
One after one.
And between shower and shine hath birth
The rainbow's evanescent glory;
Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth!
Frail symbol of our human story,
It flowers through showers where, looming hoary,
The rain-clouds flash with April mirth,
Like Life on earth.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Far West Emigrant .
I.
Mine eye is weary of the plains
Of verdure vast and wide
That stretch around me—lovely, calm,
From morn till even-tide;
And I recall with aching heart
My childhood’s village home;
Its cottage roofs and garden plots,
Its brooks of silver foam.
II.
True glowing verdure smiles around,
And this rich virgin soil
Gives stores of wealth in quick return
For hours of careless toil;
But oh! the reaper’s joyous song
Ne’er mounts to Heaven’s dome,
For unknown is the mirth and joy
Of the merry “Harvest Home.”
III.
The solemn trackless woods are fair,
And bright their summer dress;
But their still hush—their whisprings vague,
My heart seem to oppress;
And ’neath their shadow could I sit,
And think the livelong day
On my country’s fields and hedges green,
Gemmed with sweet hawthorn spray.
IV.
The graceful vines and strange bright flow’rs,
I meet in every spot,
I’d give up for a daisy meek,
A blue forget-me-not;
And from the brilliant birds I turn,
Warbling the trees among;
I know them not—and breathe a sigh
For lark or linnet’s song.
V.
But useless now those vain regrets!
My course must finish here;
In dreams alone I now can see
Again my home so dear,
Or those fond loving friends who clung
Weeping unto my breast;
And bade “God speed me” when I left,
To seek the far, far West.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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Everytime It Rains
I see dark clouds out my window
I know the storm is coming any minute
And the thunder just confirms my fears
And I know the tears are in there
Ill be crying unable to stop
Look here comes the very first drop
cause every time it rains
I fall to pieces
So many memories the rain releases
I feel you... I taste you
I cannot forget
Every time it rains... I get wet
Darling I am still in love with you
As time passes by it just intensifies
I know Ill never be with you again
Ill never find another with that kindness in his eyes
Ill be trying unable to stop
Look here comes the very first drop
cause every time it rains
I fall to pieces
So many memories the rain releases
I feel you... I taste you
I cannot forget
Every time it rains... I get wet
On sunny days Im all right
I walk in the light
And I try not to think about
The love I live without
But every time it rains
I fall to pieces
So many memories the rain releases
I feel you... I taste you
I cannot forget
Every time it rains... I get wet
cause every time it rains
I fall to pieces
So many memories the rain releases
I feel you... I taste you
I cannot forget
Every time it rains... I get wet
cause every time it rains
I fall to pieces
So many memories the rain releases
I feel you... I taste you
I cannot forget
Every time it rains... I get wet
song performed by by Ace Of Base
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of The Going Down Of The Sun
What, hast thou run thy race, art going down?
Thou seemest angry, why dost on us frown?
Yea, wrap thy head with clouds and hide thy face,
As threatening to withdraw from us thy grace?
O leave us not! When once thou hid'st thy head,
Our horizon with darkness will be spread.
Tell who hath thee offended, turn again.
Alas! too late, intreaties are in vain.
Comparison.
Our gospel has had here a summer's day,
But in its sunshine we, like fools, did play;
Or else fall out, and with each other wrangle,
And did, instead of work, not much but jangle.
And if our sun seems angry, hides his face,
Shall it go down, shall night possess this place?
Let not the voice of night birds us afflict,
And of our misspent summer us convict.
poem by John Bunyan
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The Statue Over The Cathedral Door. (From The German Of Julius Mosen)
Forms of saints and kings are standing
The cathedral door above;
Yet I saw but one among them
Who hath soothed my soul with love.
In his mantle,--wound about him,
As their robes the sowers wind,--
Bore he swallows and their fledglings,
Flowers and weeds of every kind.
And so stands he calm and childlike,
High in wind and tempest wild;
O, were I like him exalted,
I would be like him, a child!
And my songs,--green leaves and blossoms,--
To the doors of heaven would hear,
Calling even in storm and tempest,
Round me still these birds of air.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Introductory Verses
OH! blest art thou, whose steps may rove
Through the green paths of vale and grove,
Or, leaving all their charms below,
Climb the wild mountain's airy brow;
And gaze afar o'er cultured plains,
And cities with their stately fanes,
And forests, that beneath thee lie,
And ocean mingling with the sky.
For man can show thee nought so fair,
As Nature's varied marvels there;
And if thy pure and artless breast
Can feel their grandeur, thou art blest!
For thee the stream in beauty flows,
For thee the gale of summer blows,
And, in deep glen and wood-walk free,
Voices of joy still breathe for thee.
But happier far, if then thy soul
Can soar to Him who made the whole,
If to thine eye the simplest flower
Portray His bounty and His power.
If, in whate'er is bright or grand,
Thy mind can trace His viewless hand,
If Nature's music bid thee raise
Thy song of gratitude and praise;
If heaven and earth, with beauty fraught,
Lead to His throne thy raptured thought,
If there thou lov'st His love to read,
Then, wanderer, thou art blest indeed.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Rain drops fall from heaven
Tears swelling up in my eyes every night
Rain drops fall from heaven
Simply a walking disguise in the light
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wondering when i will be alright
Rain drops fall from heaven
Growing so weak no energy to fight
Rain drops fall from heaven
Losing all hope in my mind
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wishing that i could simply unwind
Rain drops fall from heaven
As time goes love makes me blind
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wishing i didn't have to leave her behind
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wanting to make everything right
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wishing i could see her in sight
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wishing I had the strength to fight
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wishing i could hold her tight
Rain drops fall from heaven
Never knowing if she remembers me
Rain drops fall from heaven
Never know if we were meant to be
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wishing i had more time to see
Rain drops fall from heaven
My family that always loved me
Rain drops fall from heaven
Thinking back to the times we had
Rain drops fall from heaven
Smiles and laughter but yet so sad
Rain drops fall from heaven
Just sitting here all alone
Rain drops fall from heaven
Wishing i was way back home
Rain drops fall from heaven
Now the only thing that is on my mind
Rain drops fall from heaven
Is the memories i have way back in time
Rain drops fall from heaven
The tears from my eyes and deep inside
Rain drops fall from heaven
Matches the drops that come from the sky
Rain drops fall from heaven
If you could even begin to wonder why
Rain drops fall from heaven
It is simply those tears from lies
Rain drops fall from heaven
Every time it rains i stare to the clouds
Rain drops fall from heaven
Hoping one day she will simply fall
Rain drops fall from heaven
Right into my arms where she belongs
Rain drops fall from heaven
So that i can sing her a song
Rain drops fall from heaven
A song that tells her how i feel
Rain drops fall from heaven
A song that is nothing but real
Rain drops fall from heaven
That will be the day that will bring me joy
Rain drops fall from heaven
Too bad it wont happen to this boy
Rain drops fall from my eyes 24/7
poem by Joshua Thomas Gage
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Song XVIII. - Imitated from the French
Yes, these are the scenes where with Iris I stray'd,
But short was her sway for so lovely a maid!
In the bloom of her youth to a cloister she run,
In the bloom of her graces too fair for a nun!
Ill-grounded, no doubt, a devotion must prove,
So fatal to beauty, so killing to love!
Yes, these are the meadows, the shrubs, and the plains,
Once the scene of my pleasures, the scene of my pains;
How many soft moments I spent in this grove!
How fair was my nymph! and how fervent my love!
Be still though, my Heart! thine emotion give o'er;
Remember, the season of love is no more.
With her how I stray'd amid fountains and bowers
Or loiter'd behind, and collected the flowers!
Then breathless with ardour my fair one pursued,
And to think with what kindness my garland she view'd!
But be still, my fond Heart! this emotion give o'er;
Fain wouldst thou forget thou must love her no more.
poem by William Shenstone
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To Isa in Heaven
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven! — Young.
Where is she now?
Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art?
If death has laid his hand upon thy brow,
Has he not touched my heart?
Has he not laid it in the grave with thine,
And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine!
If thou were dead,
I would not ask thee to reply;
But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled
To heaven, where it can never die!
Then why not come to me? Return—return
And comfort me, for I have much to mourn!
I sigh all day!
I mourn for thee the livelong night!
And when the next night comes, thou art away,
And so is absent my delight!
Oh! as the lone dove for his absent mate,
So is my soul for thee disconsolate!
I long for death—
For any thing—to be with thee!
I did inhale, alas! thy dying breath,
That it might have some power on me
To make me what thou art!—but, thou art dead!
And I am here!—it strengthened me instead!
Joy there is none—
It went into the grave with thee!
And grief, because my spirit is alone,
Is all that comes to comfort me!
The very air I breathe is turned to sighs,
And all mine soul is melting from mine eyes!
I hear, at even,
The liquid carol of birds;
Their music makes me think of thee in heaven,
It is so much like thy sweet words.
The brooklet whispers, as it runs along,
Our first love-story with its liquid tongue.
Wake, Isa! wake!
And come back in this world again!
Oh! come down to me, for my soul's dear sake,
And cure me of this trying pain!
I would give all that earth to man can be,
If thou wert only in this world with me!
Day after day
I seek thee, but thou art not near!
I sit down on thy grave in the cold clay,
And listen for thy soul!—oh! dear!
And when some withered leaf falls from the tree,
I start as if thy soul had spoke to me!
And so it is,
And so it ever more must ever be
To him, who has been robbed of all the bliss
He ever knew, by loving thee!
For misery, in thine absence, is my wife!
What joy had been, hadst thou remained in life!
It is now even;
The birds have sung themselves to sleep;
And all the stars seem coming out of heaven,
As if to look upon me weep!—
Oh! let me not look up to thee in vain,
But come back to me in this world again!
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1842)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Corinne at the Capitol
DAUGHTER of th' Italian heaven!
Thou, to whom its fires are given,
Joyously thy car hath roll'd
Where the conqueror's pass'd of old;
And the festal sun that shone,
O'er three hundred triumphs gone,
Makes thy day of glory bright,
With a shower of golden light.
Now thou tread'st th' ascending road,
Freedom's foot so proudly trode;
While, from tombs of heroes borne,
From the dust of empire shorn,
Flowers upon thy graceful head,
Chaplets of all hues, are shed,
In a soft and rosy rain,
Touch'd with many a gem-like stain.
Thou hast gain'd the summit now!
Music hails thee from below;
Music, whose rich notes might stir
Ashes of the sepulchre;
Shaking with victorious notes
All the bright air as it floats.
Well may woman's heart beat high
Unto that proud harmony!
Now afar it rolls-it dies-
And thy voice is heard to rise
With a low and lovely tone
In its thrilling power alone;
And thy lyre's deep silvery string,
Touched as by a breeze's wing,
Murmurs tremblingly at first,
Ere the tide of rapture burst.
All the spirit of thy sky
Now hath lit thy large dark eye,
And thy cheek a flush hath caught
From the joy of kindled thought;
And the burning words of song
From thy lip flow fast and strong,
With a rushing stream's delight
In the freedom of its might.
Radiant daughter of the sun!
Now thy living wreath is won.
Crown'd of Rome!-Oh! art thou not
Happy in that glorious lot?-
Happier, happier far than thou,
With the laurel on thy brow,
She that makes the humblest hearth
Lovely but to one on earth!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Be Ye In Love With April-Tide?
BE ye in love with April-tide?
I’ faith, in love am I!
For now ’t is sun, and now ’t is shower,
And now ’t is frost, and now ’t is flower,
And now ’t is Laura laughing-eyed,
And now ’t is Laura shy.
Ye doubtful days, O slower glide!
Still smile and frown, O sky!
Some beauty unforeseen I trace
In every change of Laura’s face:
Be ye in love with April-tide?
I’ faith, in love am I!
poem by Clinton Scollard
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