The Small Nightingale
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
Oh! god save me!
Oh! lord save me!
I have tried to save myself but i failed to?
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a sorrowful bird
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a sorrowful bird
Oh! god forget about this;
Listen about the frog
The frog was jealous of me as i sing so well
He wants me to die
Nightingale Nightingale
I am a little bird
BUT, I am a dying bird
BUT, I am a dying bird.
Oh! god save me!
Oh! lord save me!
poem by Abhishek Nair
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Related quotes
Stay Germ Free
Bird Flu and Swine Flu can travel our way.
So may cleanliness be the mode of the day...
In the Florence Nightingale way.
'Florence Nightingale'
nurse in the Crimean War
helped British soldiers
by cleaning the hospitals
halving the dreadful death toll.
Although retired, she gave her all
to improve the conditions
in the Nursing Profession,
leaving behind a valuable lesson.
Bird Flu and Swine Flu can travel our way
So may cleanliness be the mode of the day
in the Florence Nightingale way.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Bird Raptures
The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
Come darkness, moonrise, everything
That is so silent, sweet, and pale,
Come, so ye wake the nightingale.
Make haste to mount, thou wistful moon,
Make haste to wake the nightingale:
Let silence set the world in tune
To hearken to that wordless tale
Which warbles from the nightingale.
O herald skylark, stay thy flight
One moment, for a nightingale
Floods us with sorrow and delight.
To-morrow thou shalt hoist the sail;
Leave us tonight the nightingale.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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In the strips of woods [În arcane de pădure]
In the strips of woods, the darkness in a scary way is clinging.
Both the crowded leaves are silent and the slender trees, so high;
Night is dumb, and sad, and dying, sheltered by the opaque sky,
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
In the strips of woods, the tempest in a scary way is spinning,
Sending down a flood of water and a crimson bolt of flame;
Why is harmony a nuisance and a fury without aim,
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
In the strips of woods, the terror with the quietness is mingling,
Late aurora under foliage cannot come to light the moss,
For in front of it the darkness blocks the way and lies across –
But the nightingale is singing, but the nightingale is singing.
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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The Poet And The Bird
Said a people to a poet---' Go out from among us straightway!
While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine.
There's a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways
Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!'
The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased chanting;
'Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?'
I cannot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,
Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun.'
The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---
The bird flew to his grave and died, amid a thousand wails:---
And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there
Was only of the poet's song, and not the nightingale's.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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The Three Maidens
There were three maidens met on the highway;
The sun was down, the night was late:
And two sang loud with the birds of May,
O the nightingale is merry with its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there so still?
The land is dark, the night is late:
O, but the heart in my side is ill,
And the nightingale will languish for its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is store;
The moon mounts up, the night is late:
O, I shall look on man no more,
And the nightingale is dumb without its mate.
Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms and sing;
The moon mounts high, the night is late:
O my dear lover can hear no thing,
And the nightingale sings only to its mate.
They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was his lure;
The moon is pale, the night is late:
His grave is shallow on the moor;
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots at his hair;
The moon is chill, the night is late:
But I will lie beside him there:
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
poem by George Meredith
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About The Nightingale
From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale:
In stale blank verse a subject stale
I send per post my Nightingale;
And like an honest bard, dear Wordsworth,
You'll tell me what you think, my Bird's worth.
My own opinion's briefly this--
His bill he opens not amiss;
And when he has sung a stave or so,
His breast, & some small space below,
So throbs & swells, that you might swear
No vulgar music's working there.
So far, so good; but then, 'od rot him!
There's something falls off at his bottom.
Yet, sure, no wonder it should breed,
That my Bird's Tail's a tail indeed
And makes it's own inglorious harmony
Æolio crepitû, non carmine.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Nightingale
(ferry/manzanera)
Before the morning comes, will I hear your song
Come little nightingale, I wont be here for long
When youre up there flying, do you care
If theres no one else around?
When your lover leaves you in the air
Do you waver, do you fall?
Now while the moon is high
Shall we, nightingale,
Duet all through the night
A pair of souls for sale
Stars cluster glistening
Captive till the dawn
Patiently listening
Theyve heard it all before
Should I stay here or should I go?
I couldnt bear to be alone
Was it really love I saw?
Oh, now Ill never know
What is this I hear?
I recognise that song
Sweet little nightingale I knew youd come along
Soon when the morning comes.
We will both be gone
So sing pretty nightingale
Lead, Ill follow on.
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Critic and Poet: an Epilogue
("Poetry must be simple, sensuous, or impassioned; this man is neither simple, sensuous, nor impassioned; therefore he is not a poet")
No man had ever heard a nightingale,
When once a keen-eyed naturalist was stirred
To study and define--what is a bird,
To classify by rote and book, nor fail
To mark its structure and to note the scale
Whereon its song might possibly be heard.
Thus far, no farther;--so he spake the word.
When of a sudden,--hark, the nightingale!
Oh deeper, higher than he could divine
That all-unearthly, untaught strain! He saw
The plain, brown warbler, unabashed. "Not mine"
(He cried) "the error of this fatal flaw.
No bird is this, it soars beyond my line,
Were it a bird, 'twould answer to my law."
poem by Emma Lazarus
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From The Break The Nightingale
From the brake the Nightingale
Sings exulting to the Rose;
Though he sees her waxing pale
In her passionate repose,
While she triumphs waxing frail,
Fading even while she glows;
Though he knows
How it goes -
Knows of last year's Nightingale
Dead with last year's Rose.
Wise the enamoured Nightingale,
Wise the well-beloved Rose!
Love and life shall still prevail,
Nor the silence at the close
Break the magic of the tale
In the telling, though it shows -
Who but knows
How it goes! -
Life a last year's Nightingale,
Love a last year's Rose.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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David Ap Gwillam At The Mass Of The Birds
THE Thrush, the Lark, and, chief, the Nightingale,
With one small bird whose name I do not ken,
Offered a Mass; the little bird was clerk,
At intervals he struck his silver bell.
The stars above that were but whitened then
The candles were; the altar was a stone;
Myself was there, with meet observances
Hearing the Mass the birds said in the dell.
It was the Lark who sang in dark's decrease
Kyrie Eleison; then the Nightingale
The Consecration chanted solemnly.
(The silver bell was rung for him in chief.)
And then the Thrush, the dweller in the vale,
Orate Fratres sang how near, how clear!
The Thrush it was who, as the sun appeared,
Held up the Monstrance, a dew-circled leaf!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Nightingale
Nightingale
Sing us a song
Of a love that once belonged
Nightingale
Tell me your tale
Was your journey far too long?
Does it seem like I'm looking for an answer
To a question I can't ask
I don't know which way the feather falls
Or if i should blow it to the left
All the voices that are spinnin' around me
Trying to tell me what to say
Can I fly right behind you
And you can take me away
song performed by by Norah Jones from Come Away With Me
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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River Of Love
(Sommers)
All of my life I've been so happy while I have had you by my side.
Now you say you're gonna leave me for to become someone else's bride.
Oh, the river of love it has gone muddy and the flowers, they are dying on the shore.
And the blue skies have all turned to darkness and the nightingale will sing no more.
What can I do to hide my sorrow, what can I do to ease the pain?
How can I keep these tears from falling? Oh, darling, won't you come back home again?
Oh, the river of love it has gone muddy and the flowers, they are dying on the shore.
And the blue skies have all turned to darkness and the nightingale will sing no more.
Tomorrow I will take you to the station, I will see that you're safely on that train.
When the Two-Nineteen has parted, I'll never ever see your smile again.
Oh, the river of love it has gone muddy and the flowers, they are dying on the shore.
And the blue skies have all turned to darkness and the nightingale will sing no more.
And the blue skies have all turned to darkness and the nightingale will sing no more.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nughtingale And Cuckoo
Yes, nightingale and cuckoo! it was meet
That you should come together; for ye twain
Are emblems of the rapture and the pain
That in the April of our life compete,
Until we know not which is the more sweet,
Nor yet have learned that both of them are vain!
Yet wherefore, nightingale! break off thy strain,
While yet the cuckoo doth his call repeat?
Not so with me. To sweet woe did I cling
Long after echoing happiness was dead,
And so found solace. Now, alas! the sting!
Cuckoo and nightingale alike have fled;
Neither for joy nor sorrow do I sing,
And autumn silence gathers in their stead.
poem by Alfred Austin
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Jokerman
Standing on the waters casting your bread
While the eyes of the idol with the iron head are glowing.
Distant ships sailing into the mist,
You were born with a snake in both of your fists while a hurricane was blowing.
Freedom just around the corner for you
But with the truth so far off, what good will it do?
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Oh, oh, oh, jokerman.
So swiftly the sun sets in the sky,
You rise up and say goodbye to no one.
Fools rush in where angels fear to tread,
Both of their futures, so full of dread, you dont show one.
Shedding off one more layer of skin,
Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within.
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Oh, oh, oh, jokerman.
Youre a man of the mountains, you can walk on the clouds,
Manipulator of crowds, youre a dream twister.
Youre going to sodom and gomorrah
But what do you care? aint nobody there would want to marry your sister.
Friend to the martyr, a friend to the woman of shame,
You look into the fiery furnace, see the rich man without any name.
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Oh, oh, oh, jokerman.
Well, the book of leviticus and deuteronomy,
The law of the jungle and the sea are your only teachers.
In the smoke of the twilight on a milk-white steed,
Michelangelo indeed couldve carved out your features.
Resting in the fields, far from the turbulent space,
Half asleep near the stars with a small dog licking your face.
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Oh. oh. oh. jokerman.
Well, the riflemans stalking the sick and the lame,
Preacherman seeks the same, wholl get there first is uncertain.
Nightsticks and water cannons, tear gas, padlocks,
Molotov cocktails and rocks behind every curtain,
False-hearted judges dying in the webs that they spin,
Only a matter of time til night comes steppin in.
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Oh, oh, oh, jokerman.
Its a shadowy world, skies are slippery gray,
A woman just gave birth to a prince today and dressed him in scarlet.
Hell put the priest in his pocket, put the blade to the heat,
Take the motherless children off the street
And place them at the feet of a harlot.
Oh, jokerman, you know what he wants,
Oh, jokerman, you dont show any response.
Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune,
Bird fly high by the light of the moon,
Oh, oh, oh, jokerman.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nightingale
I built my house beside the wood
So I could hear you singing
And it was sweet and it was good
And love was all beginning
Fare thee well my nightingale
Twas long ago I found you
Now all your songs of beauty fail
The forest closes round you
The sun goes down behind a veil
Tis now that you would call me
So rest in peace my nightingale
Beneath your branch of holly
Fare thee well my nightingale
I lived but to be near you
Tho' you are singing somewhere still
I can no longer hear you
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Nightingale
(jude johnstone)
Yesterday I thought that I walked alone
And that love was just a memory
But a nightingale followed me back home
And my love was waiting there for me
I had lost my faith as lovers often do
When the storm clouds gather overhead
But the nightingale sang a note so true
That I knew Id lost my fear instead
And to think that I said love was for fools
And that time would never heal these old wounds
But the nightingale saved a prayer for me
In the twilight he played a faithful tune
I have heard the lark over in the vale
And Ive heard the lonesome whippoorwill
But the sweetest song is the nightingales
And I know Ill never get my fill
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square
That certain night, the night we met,
There was magic abroad in the air.
There were angels dining at the ritz,
And a nightingale sang in berkeley square.
I may be right, I may be wrong,
But Im perfectly willing to swear
That when you turned and smiled at me,
A nightingale sang in berkeley square.
The moon that lingered over londontown
Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown.
How could he know that we two were so in love?
The whole darn world seemed upside down.
The streets of town were paved with stars,
It was such a romantic affair.
And as we kissed and said goodnight,
A nightingale sang in berkeley square.
~interlude~
When dawn came stealing up, all gold and blue
To interrupt our rendez-vous,
I still remember how you smiled and said,
Was that a dream? or was it true?
Our homeward step was just as light
As the dancing of fred astaire,
And like an echo far away
A nightingale sang in berkeley square.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those birds
Those birds outside your window at dawn
singing all at once fit to bust –
did you know they migrate from Islam
in the fighting season?
They’re all Sufis: they sleep all night
with the Beloved; and in the morning
they exchange the jokes they heard,
the pillow talk from the night before sleep;
then the blackbird and the thrush
weave these into stories which they sing
all day; then at night the nightingale
makes them all into one beautiful poem
about being intoxicated into song
by the wine of Shiraz; the rose-water wafers;
and how those who say
that one cannot be intoxicated
by the longing for the One
have proved themselves wrong
and proved the nightingale right
as you can know in yourself
when the nightingale sings of this
to the heart’s light pulsing in the stars.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Love song--heine
Many a beauteous flower doth spring
From the tears that flood my eyes,
And the nightingale doth sing
In the burthen of my sighs.
If, O child, thou lovest me,
Take these flowerets fair and frail,
And my soul shall waft to thee
Love songs of the nightingale.
poem by Eugene Field
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Autumn Days of Nightingale
Autumn Days of Nightingale
Active and swift,
Lovable and romantic
Was the nightingale
Flown to the gardens
Wandered in the bye lanes
Bruised the feathers
Injured the wings
Neither could find green leaf
Nor couldn’t sense a flower
Disgusted and disappointed
Sitting on the dry bush
Oh nightingale,
This is the way life is
Happiness and sorrows
Pain and pleasure
Are parts of the same coin
Neither to grieve,
Nor to dismay
Patience for few days
Again the spring will spurt
With it’s beauty and rhyme
Today craving for one flower
Tomorrow you will have flowers and flowers
All around.
poem by Santosh Sharma
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