To James Bromley With 'Wordsworth's Grave
Ere vandal lords with lust of gold accurst
Deface each hallowed hillside we revere--
Ere cities in their million-throated thirst
Menace each sacred mere--
Let us give thanks because one nook hath been
Unflooded yet by desecration's wave,
The little churchyard in the valley green
That holds our Wordsworth's grave.
'Twas there I plucked these elegiac blooms,
There where he rests 'mid comrades fit and few,
And thence I bring this growth of classic tombs,
An offering, friend, to you--
You who have loved like me his simple themes,
Loved his sincere large accent nobly plain,
And loved the land whose mountains and whose streams
Are lovelier for his strain.
It may be that his manly chant, beside
More dainty numbers, seems a rustic tune;
It may be, thought has broadened since he died
Upon the century's noon;
It may be that we can no longer share
The faith which from his fathers he received;
It may be that our doom is to despair
Where he with joy believed;--
Enough that there is none since risen who sings
A song so gotten of the immediate soul,
So instant from the vital fount of things
Which is our source and goal;
And though at touch of later hands there float
More artful tones than from his lyre he drew,
Ages may pass ere trills another note
So sweet, so great, so true.
poem by William Watson
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Related quotes
Cleone
Sing her a song of the sun:
Fill it with tones of the stream, —
Echoes of waters that run
Glad with the gladdening gleam.
Let it be sweeter than rain,
Lit by a tropical moon:
Light in the words of the strain,
Love in the ways of the tune.
Softer than seasons of sleep:
Dearer than life at its best!
Give her a ballad to keep,
Wove of the passionate West:
Give it and say of the hours —
“Haunted and hallowed of thee,
Flower-like woman of flowers,
What shall the end of them be?”
You that have loved her so much,
Loved her asleep and awake,
Trembled because of her touch,
What have you said for her sake?
Far in the falls of the day,
Down in the meadows of myrrh,
What has she left you to say
Filled with the beauty of her?
Take her the best of your thoughts,
Let them be gentle and grave,
Say, “I have come to thy courts,
Maiden, with all that I have.”
So she may turn with her sweet
Face to your love and to you,
Learning the way to repeat
Words that are brighter than dew.
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Loved You Once
I loved you once, with all my heart, my spirit, body, soul...
I loved you once, with all not part, with marriage as my goal...
I loved you once, with all my strength, as if I were on fire...
I loved you once, with all at length, as if love meant desire...
I loved you once, with all my dreams, which came by day and night...
I loved you once, with all extremes spent on this one delight...
I loved you once, with all God gave, with passion borne of joy...
I loved you once, with all to save romance and not some ploy...
I loved you once, with love divine, not holding back a thing...
I loved you once, with love benign that caused my heart to sing...
I loved you once, with happiness no other man has known...
I loved you once, with prayers to bless yet now I pray alone...
I loved you once, with each embrace, until the day you died...
I loved you once, with all God's grace yet now what sighs are sighed.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I will always love you
I loved you, much more than you will ever know
I loved you, and agreed to the cross to go
I loved you, even before you knew my name
I loved you, and willingly bore all your shame
I loved you, even when you were full of sin
I loved you, and died that I your soul should win
I loved you, so much and willingly died.
I loved you, then 'Father forgive I cried.'
.... and I will always love you
Saddest Poem
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."
The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.
That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.
The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.
I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.
Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.
Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.
Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loved
Loved
Written by Ricky Wilde & Terry Ronald
Take all your goodness and shiness away
I'll tell you the things I've been longing to say
I'll break it to you just so you understand
The force and control that you hold in your hands
Make me the beat of your heart
Then fall into mine
One step at a time
You have no reason for doubting your feelings
Love isn't always the same
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
(Ooh you are loved)
Live for the moment according to you
And so when the time comes you know what to do
Trust me, I'm giving no secret away
I'm drowning in you but I want it that way
Make me the beat of your heart
Then fall into mine
One step at a time
You have no reason for doubting your feelings
Love isn't always the same
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
(Ooh you are loved)
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
You are loved
(Ooh you are loved)
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
Rise to my world, fly to my arms
I love you
I'll make it for good, I'll make it forever
you know you are loved
Make me the beat of your heart
Love isn't always the same
You are loved
Ooh you are loved
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are loved)
Ooh you are loved
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are)
(Loved you are loved)
Ooh you are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
Ooh you are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You are loved
You I love
You
(You are the only one I love)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
You I love
You
(You are the only one I love)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
(Loved you are)
You are loved
You I love
You
(You are the only one I love
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your love, my 'sweetest dream
Loved you with my heart,
my soul and my conscience.
Loved you with all I had,
sort of love that was world blind.
Loved you with my head,
my respect and my loyality.
Loved you with every breeze,
that touched your ideal personality.
Loved you as you are,
you was and you have always been.
Loved you as you would be,
all possible shades that you could be in.
Loved you with my truth,
my life and my genuine.
Loved you with my silence,
my words that are living.
Loved you in my lows,
my highs and my extemes.
Loved you in each mood swings,
your love my sweet dream.
Loved you such love,
undefinable and unspoken.
Loved you such love,
that remained untaken! ! !
poem by Jaya Mishra
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Three Graves
HOW did he live, this dead man here,
With the temple above his grave?
He lived as a great one, from cradle to bier
He was nursed in luxury, trained in pride,
When the wish was born, it was gratified;
Without thanks he took, without heed he gave.
The common man was to him a clod
From whom he was far as a demigod.
His duties? To see that his rents were paid;
His pleasure? To know that the crowd obeyed.
His pulse, if you felt it, throbbed apart,
With a separate stroke from the people's heart.
But whom did he love, and whom did he bless?
Was the life of him more than a man's, or less?
I know not. He died. There was none to blame,
And as few to weep; but these marbles came
For the temple that rose to preserve his name!
How did he live, that other dead man,
From the graves apart and alone?
As a great one, too? Yes, this was one
Who lived to labor and study and plan.
The earth's deep thought he loved to reveal;
He banded the breast of the land with steel;
The thread of his toil he never broke;
He filled the cities with wheels and smoke,
And workers by day and workers by night,
For the day was too short for his vigor's flight.
Too firm was he to be feeling and giving:
For labor, for gain, was a life worth living.
He worshiped Industry, dreamt of her, sighed for her.
Potent he grew by her, famous he died for her.
They say he improved the world in his time,
That his mills and mines were a work sublime.
When he died—the laborers rested, and sighed;
Which was it—because he had lived, or died?
And how did he live, that dead man there,
In the country churchyard laid?
O, he? He came for the sweet field air;
He was tired of the town, and he took no pride
In its fashion or fame. He returned and died
In the place he loved, where a child he played
With those who have knelt by his grave and prayed.
He ruled no serfs, and he knew no pride;
He was one with the workers side by side;
He hated a mill, and a mine, and a town,
With their fever of misery, struggle, renown;
He could never believe but a man was made
For a nobler end than- the glory of trade.
For the youth he mourned with an endless pity
Who were cast like snow on the streets of the city.
He was weak, maybe; but he lost no friend;
Who loved him once, loved on to the end.
He mourned all selfish and shrewd endeavor;
But he never injured a weak one—never.
When censure was passed, he was kindly dumb;
He was never so wise but a fault would come;
He was never so old that he failed to enjoy
The games and the dreams he had loved when a boy.
He erred, and was sorry; but never drew
A trusting heart from the pure and true.
When friends look back from the years to be,
God grant they may say such things of me.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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A Sweet Pastoral
Good Muse, rock me asleep
With some sweet harmony:
The weary eye is not to keep
Thy wary company.
Sweet Love, begone awhile,
Thou knowest my heaviness:
Beauty is born but to beguile
My heart of happiness.
See how my little flock,
That loved to feed on high,
Do headlong tumble down the rock,
And in the valley die.
The bushes and the trees
That were so fresh and green,
Do all their dainty colour leese,
And not a leaf is seen.
The blackbird and the thrush,
That made the woods to ring,
With all the rest, are now at hush,
And not a note they sing.
Sweet Philomel, the bird
That hath the heavenly throat,
Doth now alas! not once afford
Recording of a note.
The flowers have had a frost,
Each herb hath lost her savour;
And Phyllida the fair hath lost
The comfort of her favour.
Now all these careful sights
So kill me in conceit,
That how to hope upon delights
It is but mere deceit.
And therefore, my sweet Muse,
Thou know'st what help is best;
Do now thy heavenly cunning use
To set my heart at rest;
And in a dream bewray
What fate shall be my friend;
Whether my life shall still decay,
Or when my sorrow end.
poem by Nicholas Breton
Submitted by anonym
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Christmas
How grace this hallowed day?
Shall happy bells, from yonder ancient spire,
Send their glad greetings to each Christmas fire
Round which the children play?
Alas! for many a moon,
That tongueless tower hath cleaved the Sabbath air,
Mute as an obelisk of ice, aglare
Beneath an Arctic noon.
Shame to the foes that drown
Our psalms of worship with their impious drum,
The sweetest chimes in all the land lie dumb
In some far rustic town.
There, let us think, they keep,
Of the dead Yules which here beside the sea
They've ushered in with old-world, English glee,
Some echoes in their sleep.
How shall we grace the day?
With feast, and song, and dance, and antique sports,
And shout of happy children in the courts,
And tales of ghost and fay?
Is there indeed a door,
Where the old pastimes, with their lawful noise,
And all the merry round of Christmas joys,
Could enter as of yore?
Would not some pallid face
Look in upon the banquet, calling up
Dread shapes of battles in the wassail cup,
And trouble all the place?
How could we bear the mirth,
While some loved reveler of a year ago
Keeps his mute Christmas now beneath the snow,
In cold Virginian earth?
How shall we grace the day?
Ah! let the thought that on this holy morn
The Prince of Peace -- the Prince of Peace was born,
Employ us, while we pray!
Pray for the peace which long
Hath left this tortured land, and haply now
Holds its white court on some far mountain's brow,
There hardly safe from wrong!
Let every sacred fane
Call its sad votaries to the shrine of God,
And, with the cloister and the tented sod,
Join in one solemn strain!
With pomp of Roman form,
With the grave ritual brought from England's shore,
And with the simple faith which asks no more
Than that the heart be warm!
He, who, till time shall cease,
Will watch that earth, where once, not all in vain,
He died to give us peace, may not disdain
A prayer whose theme is -- peace.
Perhaps ere yet the Spring
Hath died into the Summer, over all
The land, the peace of His vast love shall fall,
Like some protecting wing.
Oh, ponder what it means!
Oh, turn the rapturous thought in every way!
Oh, give the vision and the fancy play,
And shape the coming scenes!
Peace in the quiet dales,
Made rankly fertile by the blood of men,
Peace in the woodland, and the lonely glen,
Peace in the peopled vales!
Peace in the crowded town,
Peace in a thousand fields of waving grain,
Peace in the highway and the flowery lane,
Peace on the wind-swept down!
Peace on the farthest seas,
Peace in our sheltered bays and ample streams,
Peace wheresoe'er our starry garland gleams,
And peace in every breeze!
Peace on the whirring marts,
Peace where the scholar thinks, the hunter roams,
Peace, God of Peace! peace, peace, in all our homes,
And peace in all our hearts!
poem by Henry Timrod
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost
You left me with the autumn time;
When the winter stripped the forest bare,
Then dressed it in his spotless rime;
When frosts were lurking in the air
You left me here and went away.
The winds were cold; you could not stay.
You sought a warmer clime, until
The south wind, artful maid, should break
The winter's trumpets, and should fill
The air with songs of birds; and wake
The sleeping blossoms on the plain
And make the brooks to flow again.
I thought that the winter desolate,
And all times felt a sense of loss.
I taught my longing heart to wait,
And said, 'When Spring shall come across
The hills, with blossoms in her track,
The she, our loved one, will come back.'
And now the hills with grass and moss
The spring with cunning hands has spread,
And yet I feel my grievous loss.
My heart will not be comforted,
But crieth daily, 'Where is she
You promised should come back to me? '
Oh, love! where are you? day by day
I seek to find you, but in vain.
Men point me to a grave, and say:
'There is her bed upon the plain.'
But though I see no trace of you,
I cannot thiink their words are true.
You were too sweet to wholly pass
Away from earth, and leave no trace;
You were to fair to let the grass
Grow rank and tall above your face.
Your voice, that mocked the robin's trill,
I cannot think is hushed and still.
I thought I saw your golden hair
One day, and reached to touch a strand;
I found but yellow sunbeams there -
The bright rays fell aslant my hand,
And seemed to mock, with lights and shades,
The silken meshes of your braids.
Again, I thought I saw your hand
Wave, as if beckoning to me;
I found 'twas but a lily, fanned
By the cool zephyrs from the sea.
Oh, love! I find no trace of you -
I wonder if their words were true?
One day I heard a singing voice;
A burst of music, trill on trill.
It made my very soul rejoice;
My heart gave and exultant thrill.
I cried, 'Oh heart, we've found her - hush! '
But no - 'twas the silver-throated thrush.
And once I thought I saw your face,
And wild with joy I ran to you;
But found, when I had reached the place,
'Twas a blush rose, bathed in dew.
Ah, love! I think you must be dead;
And I believe the words they said.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Seasons of My Love
I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunrise in her hair
There lived no other in the world could in my heart compare
Her eyes were stars of midnight bliss, her laugh a meadow breeze
I would have done all that she asked, so quick was I to please
I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair
Embraced in velvet lullabies, such sweetness did we share
We were all we ever had but we were wild and free
And in the lands you would not find a soul as lark as me
I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair
The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair
Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be
And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she
I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair
I loved her fierce, I loved her true, we were doomed; we did not care
The hands of time would take from me, even she was not to spare
In the whispers of my dreams, I still see my maiden fair
poem by Leonard Snow
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She is Far From the Land
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are round her, sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying.
She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking; --
Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking.
He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his Love stay behind him.
Oh! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
From her own loved island of sorrow.
poem by Thomas Moore
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Great-Heart
Theodore Roosevelt
The interpreter then called for a man-servant of his, one Great-Heart. -- Bunyan's' Pilgrim's Process
Concerning brave Captains
Our age hath made known
For all men to honour,
One standeth alone,
Of whom, o'er both oceans,
Both peoples may say:
"Our realm is diminished
With Great-Heart away."
In purpose unsparing,
In action no less,
The labours he praised
He would seek and profess
Through travail and battle,
At hazard and pain. . . .
And our world is none the braver
Since Great-Heart was ta'en!
Plain speech with plain folk,
And plain words for false things,
Plain faith in plain dealing
'Twixt neighbours or kings,
He used and he followed,
However it sped. . . .
Oh, our world is none more honest
Now Great-Heart is dead!
The heat of his spirit
Struck warm through all lands;
For he loved such as showed
'Emselves men of their hands;
In love, as in hate,
Paying home to the last. . . .
But our world is none the kinder
Now Great-Heart hath passed!
Hard-schooled by long power,
Yet most humble of mind
Where aught that he was
Might advantage mankind.
Leal servant, loved master,
Rare comrade, sure guide. . . .
Oh, our world is none the safer
Now Great-Heart hath died!
Let those who would handle
Make sure they can wield
His far-reaching sword
And his close-guarding shield:
For those who must journey
Henceforward alone
Have need of stout convoy
Now Great-Heart is gone.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Daniel Henry Deniehy
TAKE the harp, but very softly for our brother touch the strings:
Wind and wood shall help to wail him, waves and mournful mountain-springs.
Take the harp, but very softly, for the friend who grew so old
Through the hours we would not hear of—nights we would not fain behold!
Other voices, sweeter voices, shall lament him year by year,
Though the morning finds us lonely, though we sit and marvel here:
Marvel much while Summer cometh, trammelled with November wheat,
Gold about her forehead gleaming, green and gold about her feet;
Yea, and while the land is dark with plover, gull, and gloomy glede,
Where the cold, swift songs of Winter fill the interlucent reed.
Yet, my harp—and oh, my fathers! never look for Sorrow’s lay,
Making life a mighty darkness in the patient noon of day;
Since he resteth whom we loved so, out beyond these fleeting seas,
Blowing clouds and restless regions paved with old perplexities,
In a land where thunder breaks not, in a place unknown of snow,
Where the rain is mute for ever, where the wild winds never go:
Home of far-forgotten phantoms—genii of our peaceful prime,
Shining by perpetual waters past the ways of Change and Time:
Haven of the harried spirit, where it folds its wearied wings,
Turns its face and sleeps a sleep with deep forgetfulness of things.
His should be a grave by mountains, in a cool and thick-mossed lea,
With the lone creek falling past it—falling ever to the sea.
His should be a grave by waters, by a bright and broad lagoon,
Making steadfast splendours hallowed of the quiet, shining moon.
There the elves of many forests—wandering winds and flying lights—
Born of green, of happy mornings, dear to yellow summer nights,
Full of dole for him that loved them, then might halt and then might go,
Finding fathers of the people to their children speaking low—
Speaking low of one who, failing, suffered all the poet’s pain,
Dying with the dead leaves round him—hopes which never grow again.
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leichhardt
LORDLY harp, by lordly master wakened from majestic sleep,
Yet shall speak and yet shall sing the words which make the fathers weep!
Voice surpassing human voices—high, unearthly harmony—
Yet shall tell the tale of hero, in exalted years to be!
In the ranges, by the rivers, on the uplands, down the dells,
Where the sound of wind and wave is, where the mountain anthem swells,
Yet shall float the song of lustre, sweet with tears and fair with flame,
Shining with a theme of beauty, holy with our Leichhardt’s name!
Name of him who faced for science thirsty tracts of bitter glow,
Lurid lands that no one knows of—two-and-thirty years ago.
Born by hills of hard grey weather, far beyond the northern seas,
German mountains were his sponsors, and his mates were German trees;
Grandeur of the old-world forests passed into his radiant soul,
With the song of stormy crescents where the mighty waters roll.
Thus he came to be a brother of the river and the wood—
Thus the leaf, the bird, the blossom, grew a gracious sisterhood;
Nature led him to her children, in a space of light divine:
Kneeling down, he said—“My mother, let me be as one of thine!”
So she took him—thence she loved him—lodged him in her home of dreams,
Taught him what the trees were saying, schooled him in the speech of streams.
For her sake he crossed the waters—loving her, he left the place
Hallowed by his father’s ashes, and his human mother’s face—
Passed the seas and entered temples domed by skies of deathless beam,
Walled about by hills majestic, stately spires and peaks supreme!
Here he found a larger beauty—here the lovely lights were new
On the slopes of many flowers, down the gold-green dells of dew.
In the great august cathedral of his holy lady, he
Daily worshipped at her altars, nightly bent the reverent knee—
Heard the hymns of night and morning, learned the psalm of solitudes;
Knew that God was very near him—felt His presence in the woods!
But the starry angel, Science, from the home of glittering wings,
Came one day and talked to Nature by melodious mountain springs:
“Let thy son be mine,” she pleaded; “lend him for a space,” she said,
“So that he may earn the laurels I have woven for his head!”
And the lady, Nature, listened; and she took her loyal son
From the banks of moss and myrtle—led him to the Shining One!
Filled his lordly soul with gladness—told him of a spacious zone
Eye of man had never looked at, human foot had never known.
Then the angel, Science, beckoned, and he knelt and whispered low—
“I will follow where you lead me”—two-and-thirty years ago.
On the tracts of thirst and furnace—on the dumb, blind, burning plain,
Where the red earth gapes for moisture, and the wan leaves hiss for rain,
In a land of dry, fierce thunder, did he ever pause and dream
Of the cool green German valley and the singing German stream?
When the sun was as a menace, glaring from a sky of brass,
Did he ever rest, in visions, on a lap of German grass?
Past the waste of thorny terrors, did he reach a sphere of rills,
In a region yet untravelled, ringed by fair untrodden hills?
Was the spot where last he rested pleasant as an old-world lea?
Did the sweet winds come and lull him with the music of the sea?
Let us dream so—let us hope so! Haply in a cool green glade,
Far beyond the zone of furnace, Leichhardt’s sacred shell was laid!
Haply in some leafy valley, underneath blue, gracious skies,
In the sound of mountain water, the heroic traveller lies!
Down a dell of dewy myrtle, where the light is soft and green,
And a month like English April sits, an immemorial queen,
Let us think that he is resting—think that by a radiant grave
Ever come the songs of forest, and the voices of the wave!
Thus we want our sons to find him—find him under floral bowers,
Sleeping by the trees he loved so, covered with his darling flowers!
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She Loved Like Diamond
She ran the risk from unity
Obsession dies alone with tragedy
She loved like diamond
She loved like diamond
And cut so hard
She died
A passion course that leads to pain
An acid taste that laced her soul again
She loved like diamond
She loved like diamond
And cut so hard
She died
Another path,Ive run them all
The rain has cleared the stains,no trace at all
She loved like diamond
She loved like diamond
And cut so hard
She died
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chicken Bones
Never really got you cos hes always on his own
Never really got you because, ooh, you never loved him
Better write a letter cos hes always on the phone
Better write a letter cos, ooh, you never loved Im enough
You never loved him enough
Never loved him enough
Never loved him enough
He knows that hes pathetic as he stares out the window
Not peripatetic, he doesnt move a muscle
? drives an instamatic? , says she tell him real slow
He never really got it cos you never gave him enough
Never given him enough
Never given him enough
Never given him enough
Theres no fun in walking wounded, hes never loved
He wears a pained expression as hes takin off your clothes
Its only an impression of how you should have loved him
Step into the gutter cos you find him so shallow
He was the main attraction but turned back to yellow
This wouldnt be the lyrics if this was a song
You never will forget it cos, ooh, you never loved him enough
No, you never loved him enough
Never loved him enough
Never loved him enough
Never loved him enough
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You'll Know You Were Loved
Some things come to he who waits
but all is lost if you hesitate
And I was never one to wait
you'll know you were loved
You can hire great lawyers, you can speak to your friends
you can say he did this and that some things don't change
Unwrap the present and burn the remains
but you'll know you were loved
Now you take Roscoe, he ain't much
people say things are ruined after his touch
It's like a tar was dripping from his brush
but you'll know you were loved
Or Stan or Jake emerging from your past
from those love affairs that didn't last
But me, I'll give it my last gasp
and you'll know you were loved
A parrot, a donkey, a dog, a bone
some of us never had a home
And if we did we left it long ago
and didn't know we were loved
Empty as a wooden clock
left in the woods at twelve o'clock
Insides all rusted and spring is popped
but you'll know you were loved
Even when you sleep at night
inside your heart will cry
You can never say goodbye
when you know you were loved
Under-achievers of the world unite
You have nothing to lose except your fright
And together we can perhaps past the night
when you know you were loved
And together we can perhaps past the night
when you know you were loved
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold On Lynette The Horses Are Coming
Lynette was a beautiful baby
A true joy to her ma and pa
Free from oriningal sin she was
The whole family was in awe
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
One day she woke with fever
There was snow and wind and cold
The car was stuck at the end of the drive
To the doctor they could not go
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
Quick hook-up the team and the sleigh
By horse she'll surely make it
Hold on Lynette the horses are coming
Let's take some time to say how much we love you
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
Manes a flyin' tales a whippin'
The horse's plowed right through
Muscles a bulgin' and hides a sweating
Let's take some time to say how much we love you
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
Well by horse they surely made it
By horse they surely did
Just in time to tell them
There was nothing they could do for her
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
She was loved loved loved
Well, for all those ma's and pa's out there
Who've lost their little ones
This songs not about a child dying
It's of a parent's love
One day on earth is just the same
as one year or fifty or a hundred
The only difference my friends
Is in the love you been giving and receiving
Love love love
Love love love
Love love love
Love love love
Hold on Lynette the horses are coming
Let's take some time to say how much we love you
poem by Atty Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Sweet It Is
How sweet it is to be loved by you
How sweet it is to be loved by you
I needed the shelter of someone's arms and there you were
With sweet love and devotion gently touching my emotion
I want to stop - to thank you baby
How sweet it is to be loved by you
How sweet it is to be loved by you
Open my eyes at night
I wonder what I would be without you in my life
Everything was just a bore
All the things I've done you know I've done them before
But you brightened up all of my days
With your love so sweet and in so may ways
I want to stop - to thank you baby
How sweet it is to be loved by you
How sweet it is to be loved by you
Sweeter than the honey from the bees, baby
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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