En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Fairest, Brightest, Hues Of Ether Fade

The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade;
The sweetest notes must terminate and die;
O Friend! thy flute has breathed a harmony
Softly resounded through this rocky glade;
Such strains of rapture as the Genius played
In his still haunt on Bagdad's summit high;
He who stood visible to Mirza's eye,
Never before to human sight betrayed.
Lo, in the vale, the mists of evening spread!
The visionary Arches are not there,
Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas:
Yet sacred is to me this Mountain's head,
Whence I have risen, uplifted, on the breeze
Of harmony, above all earthly care.

poem by William Wordsworth
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A Song for St. Cecilia's Day

FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,
And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
'Arise, ye more than dead!'
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
From harmony to harmony
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound:
Less than a God they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly, and so well.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

The trumpet's loud clangour
Excites us to arms,
With shrill notes of anger,
And mortal alarms.
The double double double beat
Of the thundering drum
Cries Hark! the foes come;
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!

The soft complaining flute,
In dying notes, discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair, disdainful dame.

But O, what art can teach,
What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ's praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.

Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees unrooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre;
But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher:
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appear'd
Mistaking Earth for Heaven.

GRAND CHORUS.

As from the power of sacred lays
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the Blest above;
So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky!

poem by John Dryden
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Rocky Mountain High

This song appears on twenty-one albums, and was first released on the rocky mountain high album. this version has also been released on this is john denver, the country roads collection and the
Mountain collection albums. it has been rerecorded on the greatest hits vol 1, take me home country roads & other hits, favourites, voice of america, john denver (italian) and country class
Lbums. it has been rerecorded again on the earth songs, the very best of john denver (single cd), a portrait and the john denver collection - rocky mountain high albums. it has been rerecorded a
On the love again and a celebration of life albums. live versions also appear on the an evening with john denver, live at the sydney opera house, the wildlife concert and the best of john denver
Albums.
He was born in the summer of his 27th year
Comin home to a place hed never been before
He left yesterday behind him, you might say he was born again
You might say he found a key for every door
When he first came to the mountains his life was far away
On the road and hangin by a song
But the strings already broken and he doesnt really care
It keeps changin fast and it dont last for long
But the colorado rocky mountain high
Ive seen it rainin fire in the sky
The shadow from the starlight is softer than a lullabye
Rocky mountain high (high colorado) rocky mountain high (high colorado)
He climbed cathedral mountains, he saw silver clouds below
He saw everything as far as you can see
And they say he got crazy once, and he tried to touch the sun
And he lost a friend but kept his memory
Now he walks in quiet solitude the forests and the streams
Seeking grace in every step he takes
His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake
And the colorado rocky mountain high
Ive seen it rainin fire in the sky
You can talk to God and listen to the casual reply
Rocky mountain high (high colorado) rocky mountain high (high colorado)
Now his life is full of wonder but his heart still knows some fear
Of a simple thing he cannot comprehend
Why they try to tear the mountains down to bring in a couple more
More people, more scars upon the land
And the colorado rocky mountain high
Ive seen it rainin fire in the sky
I know hed be a poorer man if he never saw an eagle fly
Rocky mountain high
Its a colorado rocky mountain high
Ive seen it rainin fire in the sky
Friends around the campfire and everybodys high
Rocky mountain high (high colorado) rocky mountain high (high colorado)
Rocky mountain high (high colorado) rocky mountain high do de do
Words by john denver, music by john denver and mike taylor

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harmony (From" Harmony")

Harmony
Unforgettable harmony
Harmony
First there was harmony
And there was rhyme
This was our time
Harmony
Did we have harmony
And that's just about all we had!
Suddenly
A little harmony
And the poverty's not so bad
Thin, we were
Poor as sin in berlin, we were!
Patches on our pants
Mercif'lly, when you're in harmony
You're in a trance
Others went marching
Not us, we'd dance
No one in grodnogubernia
Ever learned to dance like this!
Spoken:
(Believe it or not I was a rabbi before all this started!
In grodnogubernia yet!)
If you're in grodnogubernia
Tell em', this you shouldn't miss!
Harmony
All arm in arm were we
Well, except when the punches flew
Squabbles, sure
But squabbles don't endure
When there's harmony in the brew
Then did we
Oh, so splendidly blend, did we
Like a spell had come
It was clear
My pals and I could hear
A different drum
Outside they hollered!
But we hadharmony!
In this joint
All encounters with counterpoint
End in harmony
And it's clear
No man's a solo here
Not even me
No solo mio!
No we've got harmony!
When we've got harmony
Then just maybe we've got a chance
Harmony, the best is harmony!
And the rest is a song and dance!
Where you find
You're in harmony
There you find
Shelter in a storm
Every note
A button on the coat
That keeps you warm
Stars have the heavens
But we've got harmony!
Harmony!
Harmony!
Harmony!
Troubles disappear
And what you feel is what you hear
Not what you see!
Yes, first there was
Harmony!

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With the Young Wine

Sun sets purple,

Swallow has already flown far off.

Under arches in the evening

New wine goes round;

Snow falls behind the mountain.

Summer's last green drifts away,

Hunter comes from the forest.

Under arches in the evening

New wine goes round;

Snow falls behind the mountain.

Bat blows around the forehead,

A stranger comes silently.

Under arches in the evening

New wine goes round;

Snow falls behind the mountain.

poem by Georg Trakl
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An Ode For St. Cecilia's Day

I.
Prepare the hallow'd strain, My Muse,
Thy softest sounds and sweetest numbrs chuse;
the bright Cecilia's praise rehearse,
In warbling words,a nd glittering verse,
that smootly run into a song,
and gently die away,and melt upon the tongue.

II.
First let the sprightly violin
The joyful melody begin,
And none of all her strings be mute,
while the sharp sound and shriller lay
In sweet harmonious notes decay,
Soften and mellow'd by the flute.
'The Flute that sweetly can complain,
'Disolve the frozen nymph's disdain;
'Panting sympathy impart,
'Till she partake of her lover's smart.'

C H O R U S.

III.
Next, let the solemn organ join
Religious airs, and strains divine,
Such as may lift us to the skies,
And set all heaven before our eyes:
'Such as may lift us to the skies;
'So far at least till they
'Descend with kind surprise.
'And meet our pious harmony half-way.'

IV.
Let then the trumpet's piersing sound
Our ravish'd ears with pleasure wound:
The Soul o'er-powering with delight,
As, with a quick uncommon ray,
A streak of lightning clears the day,
And flashes on the sight.
Let echo too perform her part,
Prolonging every note with art,
And in a low expiring strain
Play all the concert o'er again.

V.
Such were the tuneful notes that hung
On bright Cecilia's charming tongue:
Notes that sacred heats inspir'd,
and with religious ardour fir'd:
The love-sick youth, that long suppress'd
His smother'd passion in hisbreast,
No sooner heard the warbling dame,
But, by the secret influence turn'd,
He felt a new diviner flame,
And with devotion burn'd.
With ravish'd soul,a nd looks amaz'd,
Upon her beauteous face he gaz'd;

Nor made his amorous complaint:
In vain her eyes his heart had charm'd.
Her heavenly voice her eyes disarm'd,
And chang'd the lover to a saint.

G R A N D C H O R U S.

VI.
And how the choir compleat rejoices,
With trembling strings and melting voices,
The tuneful ferment rises high,
And works with mingled melody:
Quick divisions run their rounds,
A thousand trills and quivering sounds

In airy circles o'er us fly.
Till wafted by a gentle breeze,
They faint and languish by degrees,
And at a distance die.

poem by Joseph Addison
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Harmony

Harmony
Harmony
Id like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony
Cut it up in little tiny bits
And give it all away for free
Harmony
What we need is a big big cooking pot
Big enough to cook every wonderful
Beautiful, trustworrthy, lovely idea weve got

song performed by by Happy Mondays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Old Man's Funeral

Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled,
His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,
In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled,
Sinks where his islands of departure spread
O'er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy mountain head.

Why weep ye then for him, who, having won
The bound of man's appointed years, at last.
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done,
Serenely to his final rest has passed;
While the soft memory of his virtues yet
Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set?

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Grand Illusion

Oh grand illusion, like the fade away
Take me and go out and play, oh yeah
Its no intrusion, its like a rainy day
That can wash the clouds away of this pain inside
Harmony, we need harmony
Find the melody that puts our hearts in tune
Harmony, we need harmony
Simple symphony that makes us feel brand new
Oh grand illusion, like to fade away
Take me and go out and play, oh yeah
Its no intrusion, its like a rainy day
That can wash the clouds away of this pain inside
Harmony, we need harmony
Find the melody that puts our hearts in tune
Harmony, we need harmony
Simple symphony that makes us feel brand new
Harmony, harmony
Oh grand illusion, like to fade away
Take me and go out and play, oh yeah
Its no intrusion, its like a rainy day
That can wash the clouds away of this pain inside
Come on now, boy, put it on the line
Take some space just to ease your mind
And to think it through

song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Composed After A Journey Across The Hambleton Hills, Yorkshire

DARK and more dark the shades of evening fell;
The wished-for point was reached--but at an hour
When little could be gained from that rich dower
Of prospect, whereof many thousands tell.
Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power
Salute us; there stood Indian citadel,
Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower
Substantially expressed--a place for bell
Or clock to toll from! Many a tempting isle,
With groves that never were imagined, lay
'Mid seas how steadfast! objects all for the eye
Of silent rapture; but we felt the while
We should forget them; they are of the sky,
And from our earthly memory fade away.

poem by William Wordsworth
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There was a Boy

There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
And islands of Winander!--many a time,
At evening, when the earliest stars began
To move along the edges of the hills,
Rising or setting, would he stand alone,
Beneath the trees, or by the glimmering lake;
And there, with fingers interwoven, both hands
Pressed closely palm to palm and to his mouth
Uplifted, he, as through an instrument,
Blew mimic hootings to the silent owls,
That they might answer him.--And they would shout
Across the watery vale, and shout again,
Responsive to his call,--with quivering peals,
And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud
Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild
Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause
Of silence such as baffled his best skill:
Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung
Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received
Into the bosom of the steady lake.
This boy was taken from his mates, and died
In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.
Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale
Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs
Upon a slope above the village-school;
And, through that church-yard when my way has led
On summer-evenings, I believe, that there
A long half-hour together I have stood
Mute--looking at the grave in which he lies!

poem by William Wordsworth
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Autumn Joy Of Red With Little Friend

I raise my finger high
for a beautiful red dragonfly
it comes on top to have a rest,
I slowly move and have a fest
on harmony
a slow time joy,
Oh! Beauty!
Of the autumn at your best
Sweet red dragon fly,
you're so lovely
I truly fully appreciate
your precious company
until you start to fly again.
Good bye dear little friend,
My hand I wave
till from my sight
you'd fade
Adieu!
Farewell!
Thank you!

poem by Elena Sandu
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The Happy Islands

O FAR away, and far away,
The Happy Islands lie;
In bluer seas of calm than these,
Beneath a bluer sky.

The sea, a shining girdle, winds
Round cliff and cape and bay,
With flash and gleam, and there they dream,
O far and far away!

Upon a rim of sapphire sea,
As some sweet girl might lean
Her breast of snow, my Islands glow,
All exquisite and green.

The cliffs like shining ramparts rise,
The golden beaches gleam;
And thro' the hills sing silver rills,
And cataract and stream.

Bright in a mist of leaves, on height
And headland, waving high,
The flame-flowers lean, and burn between
Splendours of sea and sky.

The still, bright forests, massed and green,
Like painted woodlands glow
In shade and shine; and belts of pine
Climb up to meet the snow.

No burning drought with fevered breath,
Nor blight of bitter hail,
Blackens the yield of fruitful field,
Nor sears the flowery vale.

Ah me! my Isles! my Happy Isles!
The Isles that nurtured me;
My heart is fain to cross again
Those leagues of purple sea,—

To watch at sunset from the hills
The headlands fade in mist,
'Mid changing glows, of gold and rose
And Bloom-of-Amethyst.

I tread to-day a sunless strand
Under sad skies of grey,
But summer smiles in my fair Isles
So far and far away.

poem by Inez Isabel Maud Peacocke
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The Cosmic Orchestra

With the break of dawning day,
The feathered folks greet the world,
In resonant notes of alluring songs,
They fill the hearts with rapturous glee.

Far or near a church bell sings,
Vibrant notes of chiming verse,
It floats around in rambling waves,
Urging the world to wake and work.

On fluttering wings the gentle breeze,
Comes down, to tickle the tender leaves,
Together do they sing and dance,
In delightful chorus to thrill the hearts.

Later sometime the falling rain,
Sings a song in rhythmic notes,
With rising strains and falling lilts,
The music goes on high and low.

Far away from mountain slopes,
Flow down, narrow glistening streams,
Spiralling over pebbles and rocks,
They muse a melody so sweet to hear.

As the setting Sun in Western sky,
Paints the clouds in crimson shades,
‘The frayed nerves' stroll to the beach,
To feast on the song of surging waves.

When darkness spreads and wraps the earth,
Beasts and birds - they together sing,
The Grand Finale to the Great Concert,
Played in league with the Cosmic Band.

Music hides in every heart,
Its celestial strains nourish the lives,
Tune it right with prudent care,
Lest it die in the cacophony of sounds.

poem by Valsa George
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Honor & Harmony

No need to pull some weight around
But then I aint gonna just sit here
Like a clown and just wait around
Im taking what Ive earned to be taking
And you know you only get stronger
When your heart is asking
But me Ive had enough of walking around for some red tape
You know its just a fake
I say its a big mistake
And were all human
So theres no need to be taking it
With some honor and harmony
Well surely be making it
With a little bit of honor and harmony...
Come on!
What shall we choose to be our tactics
In this age of computer taxes oh no
When in this new era to come
We shall be organized and not supervised
From the physical to the spiritual
All our works will be so critical
Our offense and mental will soar
Our ornamental will be so pure
And we wont sweat the expense
In the new millenium
We are raising through the fog
Helping the healing god
The next awakening is you
And were all human
So theres no need to be taking it
With some honor and harmony
Well surely be making it
With a little bit of honor and harmony...
Come on!

song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tartary

If I were Lord of Tartary,
Myself, and me alone,
My bed should be of ivory,
Of beaten gold my throne;
And in my court should peacocks flaunt,
And in my forests tigers haunt,
And in my pools great fishes slant
Their fins athwart the sun.

If I were Lord of Tartary,
Trumpeters every day
To all my meals should summon me,
And in my courtyards bray;
And in the evening lamps should shine,
Yellow as honey, red as wine,
While harp, and flute, and mandoline
Made music sweet and gay.

If I were Lord of Tartary,
I'd wear a robe of beads,
White, and gold, and green they'd be --
And small and thick as seeds;
And ere should wane the morning star,
I'd don my robe and scimitar.
And zebras seven should draw my car
Through Tartary's dark gleades.

Lord of the fruits of Tartary.
Her rivers silver-pale!
Lord of the hills of Tartary.
Glen, thicket, wood, and dale!
Her flashing stars, her scented breeze,
Her trembling lakes, like foamless seas,
Her bird-delighting citron-trees,
In every purple vale!

poem by Walter de la Mare
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Canada

It was formerly believed, on a sea-battered shore
though the storm at home blasted,
that in the distant west there still lay lands,
where calm and sun never ended,
for there the good season had found it's retreat
and freedom and compassion - all that is best.

They set no sail, but thought high,
by the ocean they dreaming stood,
as the sun slid into the lowest west
in the evening's blue-misted spring dusk,
then hope and desire glide out with the breeze
on the still-blank, sun gilt, wide armed sea.

Though oceans still flood, that separate lands,
the passage across is effortless.
And our Markland, Canada, its genius and care
the world held out to you over the sea.
To the Greeks you could only appear in a poem -
but to Icelandic sea kings you gave yourself first.

Still human hope turns its tired eyes
from the east, to dream about you -
you proved good to all, who loved you fervently,
who possess here rapture and home.
And all with you is fullfilled and able to root
which the unquiet spirit has dreamed best.

poem by Stephan Stephansson
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The Satin Shoes

'If ever I walk to church to wed,
As other maidens use,
And face the gathered eyes,' she said,
'I'll go in satin shoes!'

She was as fair as early day
Shining on meads unmown,
And her sweet syllables seemed to play
Like flute-notes softly blown.

The time arrived when it was meet
That she should be a bride;
The satin shoes were on her feet,
Her father was at her side.

They stood within the dairy door,
And gazed across the green;
The church loomed on the distant moor,
But rain was thick between.

'The grass-path hardly can be stepped.
The lane is like a pool!' -
Her dream is shown to be inept,
Her wish they overrule.

'To go forth shod in satin soft
A coach would be required!'
For thickest boots the shoes were doffed -
Those shoes her soul desired….

All day the bride, as overborne,
Was seen to brood apart,
And that the shoes had not been worn
Sat heavy on her heart.

From her wrecked dream, as months flew on,
Her thought seemed not to range.
'What ails the wife?' they said anon,
'That she should be so strange?'…

Ah - what coach comes with furtive glide -
A coach of closed-up kind?
It comes to fetch the last year's bride,
Who wanders in her mind.

She strove with them, and fearfully ran
Stairward with one low scream:
'Nay - coax her,' said the madhouse man,
'With some old household theme.'

'If you will go, dear, you must fain
Put on those shoes - the pair
For your marriage, which the rain
Forbade you then to wear.'

She clapped her hands, flushed joyous hues;
'O yes - I'll up and ride
If I am to wear my satin shoes
And be a proper bride!'

Out then her little foot held she,
As to depart with speed;
The madhouse man smiled pleasantly
To see the wile succeed.

She turned to him when all was done,
And gave him her thin hand,
Exclaiming like an enraptured one,
'This time it will be grand!'

She mounted with a face elate,
Shut was the carriage door;
They drove her to the madhouse gate,
And she was seen no more….

Yet she was fair as early day
Shining on meads unmown,
And her sweet syllables seemed to play
Like flute-notes softly blown.

poem by Thomas Hardy
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A Song Of Savoy

As the dim twilight shrouds
The mountain's purple crest,
And Summer's white and folded clouds
Are glowing in the west,
Loud shouts come up the rocky dell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.

Faint is the goatherd's song,
And sighing comes the breeze;
The silent river sweeps along
Amid its bending trees -
And the full moon shines faintly there,
And music fills the evening air.

Beneath the waving firs
The tinkling cymbals sound;
And as the wind the foliage stirs,
I see the dancers bound
Where the green branches, arched above,
Bend over this fair scene of love.

And he is there, that sought
My young heart long ago!
But he has left me - though I thought
He ne'er could leave me so.
Ah! lover's vows - how frail are they!
And his - were made but yesterday.

Why comes he not? I call
In tears upon him yet;
'Twere better ne'er to love at all,
Than love, and then forget!
Why comes he not? Alas! I should
Reclaim him still, if weeping could.

But see - he leaves the glade,
And beckons me away:
He comes to seek his mountain maid!
I cannot chide his stay.
Glad sounds along the valley swell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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For Free

I slept last night in a good hotel
I went shopping today for jewels
The wind rushed around in the dirty town
And the children let out from the schools
I was standing on a noisy corner
Waiting for the walking green
Across the street he stood
And he played real good
On his clarinet, for free
Now me I play for fortunes
And those velvet curtain calls
Ive got a black limousine
And two gentlemen
Escorting me to the halls
And I play if you have the money
Or if youre a friend to me
But the one man band
By the quick lunch stand
He was playing real good, for free
Nobody stopped to hear him
Though he played so sweet and high
They knew he had never
Been on their t.v.
So they passed his music by
I meant to go over and ask for a song
Maybe put on a harmony...
I heard his refrain
As the signal changed
He was playing real good, for free

song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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