Related quotes: There was an Old Man...

There was an Old Man of the Isles,
Whose face was pervaded with smiles;
He sung high dum diddle,
And played on the fiddle,
That amiable Man of the Isles.

by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes

Dum Dum Diddle

I can hear how you work, practising hard
Playing night and day, woah-oh
And it sounds better now
Yes, you improve every time you play, woah-oh
But its bad
Youre so sad
And youre only smiling
When you play your violin
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Wish I was, dum-dum-diddle, your darling fiddle
But I think you dont know that I exist
Im the quiet kind, woah-oh
From the day when I first listened to you
Youve been on my mind, woah-oh
You dont care
Its not fair
And youre only smiling
When you play your violin
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
To be so near you and not just hear you
Dum-dum-diddle, to be your fiddle
I think then maybe youd see me, baby
Youd be mine
And wed be together all the time
Wish I was, dum-dum-diddle, your darling fiddle

song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Phenomenal Cat

A long, long time ago,
In the land of idiot boys,
There live a cat, a phenomenal cat,
Who loved to wallow all day.
No one bothered him
As he sat, content in his tree.
He just lived to eat cause it kept him fat,
And thats how he wanted to stay.
Though he was big and fat,
All the world was good to him,
And he pointed out on the map
All the places he had been.
[cathage,karthom,cannes? ], [india,sardinia? ], kathmandu,
The scilley isles and sahara, too
Fum, fum, diddle-um di
La la la la, la-la la la
La la la la, la-la la la la
La la la la-la la la
Once when he was thin
He had flown to old hong kong,
And had learned the secret of life,
And the sea and the sky beyond.
So he gave up his diet and sat in a tree,
And ate himself through eternity.
Fum, fum, diddle-um di
La la la la la-la la la
La la la la, la-la la la la
La la la la-la la la
Fum, fum, diddle-um di
Fum, fum, diddle-um di

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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High Diddle Diddle

High diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jump'd over the moon;
The little dog laugh'd
To see such craft,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.

poem by Anonymous English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hey diddle diddle

Hey diddle diddle
We're all on the fiddle
And never get up until noon.
We only take cash
Which we carefully stash
And we work by the light of the moon.

poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ancient Speech

A Gaelic bard they praise who in fourteen adjectives
Named the one indivisible soul of his glen;
For what are the bens and the glens but manifold qualities,
Immeasurable complexities of soul?
What are these isles but a song sung by island voices?
The herdsman sings ancestral memories
And the song makes the singer wise,
But only while he sings
Songs that were old when the old themselves were young,
Songs of these hills only, and of no isles but these.
For other hills and isles this language has no words.

The mountains are like manna, for one day given,
To each his own:
Strangers have crossed the sound, but not the sound of the dark oarsmen
Or the golden-haired sons of kings,
Strangers whose thought is not formed to the cadence of waves,
Rhythm of the sickle, oar and milking pail,
Whose words make loved things strange and small,
Emptied of all that made them heart-felt or bright.
Our words keep no faith with the soul of the world.

poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The "happy isles" of horace

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the golden haze off yonder,
Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles,
And the ocean loves to wander.

Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills,
Proudly the fig rejoices;
Merrily dance the virgin rills,
Blending their myriad voices.

Our herds shall fear no evil there,
But peacefully feed and rest them;
Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear
Ever come there to molest them.

Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold,
Nor feverish drouth distress us,
But he that compasseth heat and cold
Shall temper them both to bless us.

There no vandal foot has trod,
And the pirate hosts that wander
Shall never profane the sacred sod
Of those beautiful Isles out yonder.

Never a spell shall blight our vines,
Nor Sirius blaze above us,
But you and I shall drink our wines
And sing to the loved that love us.

So come with me where Fortune smiles
And the gods invite devotion,--
Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the haze of that far-off ocean!

poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Happy Isles

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the golden haze off yonder,
Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles
And the ocean loves to wander.

Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills,
Proudly the fig rejoices,
Merrily dance the virgin rills,
Blending their myriad voices.

Our herds shall suffer no evil there,
But peacefully feed and rest them;
Never thereto shall prowling bear
Or serpent come to molest them.

Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold,
Nor feverish drought distress us,
But he that compasseth heat and cold
Shall temper them both to bless us.

There no vandal foot has trod,
And the pirate hordes that wander
Shall never profane the sacred sod
Of those beautiful isles out yonder.

Never a spell shall blight our vines,
Nor Sirius blaze above us,
But you and I shall drink our wines
And sing to the loved that love us.

So come with me where Fortune smiles
And the gods invite devotion,--
Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the haze of that far-off ocean!

poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lake of the Thousand Isles

(For Music.)
Though Missouri'stide may majestic glide,
There's a curse on the soil it laves;
The Ohio, too, may be fair, but who
Would sojourn in the land of slaves?
Be my prouder lot a Canadian cot
And the bread of a freeman's toils;
Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand,
And the Lake of the Thousand Isles!
I would seek no wealth, at the cost of health,
'Mid the city's din and strife;
More I love the grace of fair nature's face,
And the calm of a woodland life;
I would shun the road by ambition trod,
And the lore which the heart defiles;--
Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand,
And the Lake of the Thousand Isles!

O away, away! I would gladly stray
Where the freedom I love is found;
Where the pine and oak by the woodman's stroke
Are disturbed in their ancient bound;
Where the gladsome swain reaps the golden grain,
And the trout from the stream beguiles;
Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand,
And the Lake of the Thousand Isles.

poem by Evan MacColl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reality Check

‘Hey Diddle Diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon...’

So what did Neil Armstrong find?
When he walked on the moon?
Cow bones! Asphyxiation! No oxygen!

The cow died!
News flash!
A discovery of lunar proportions!

What you never heard?
Must be...?
Another conspiracy theory...

See also ‘What Did Neil Armstrong Find? ’

poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Isles of Greece

The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose, and Phoebus
sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set...

The mountains look on Marathon--
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dreamed that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persians' grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.

A king sat on the rocky brow
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships, by thousands, lay below,
And men in nations--all were his!
He counted them at break of day--
And when the sun set, where were they?

And where are they? And where art thou?
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now--
The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?

'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though linked among a fettered race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear....

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning teardrop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves.

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There, swanlike, let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

poem by Byron
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Song Of Yoomy

Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea,
That rolls o'er his corse with a hush,
His warriors bend over their spears,
His sisters gaze upward and mourn.
Weep, weep, for Adondo is dead!
The sun has gone down in a shower;
Buried in clouds the face of the moon;
Tears stand in the eyes of the starry skies,
And stand in the eyes of the flowers;
And streams of tears are the trickling brooks,
Coursing adown the mountains.--
Departed the pride, and the glory of Mardi:
The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep in the sea.
Fast falls the small rain on its bosom that
sobs,--
Not showers of rain, but the tears of Oro.

poem by Herman Melville
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(Ain't That) Just Like Me

Mary had a little lamb
His fleece was white as snow
And everywhere that Mary went
the lamb was sure to go
Now ain't that just like me
well you know cracking up over you
you know that I love you (yeah)
love you (yeah)
Won't you come along there too
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
All the king's horses and all the king's men
couldn't put him back again
chorus
Hey diddle-diddle the cat had a fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed to see such fun
and the dish ran away with the spoon
chorus
verse 3
chorus
It's all right now
Won't you come along there too
We're shaking now
Won't you come along there too
Come on baby

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Pen

Oh, the people would come from far and away,
They'd dance all night 'till the break of day,
When the caller would holler "Do-si-do,"
You knew Uncle Pen was ready to go.
Late in the evening about sun down,
High on the hill and above the town,
Uncle Pen played the fiddle, lord a how it'd ring,
You could hear it talk, you could hear it sing.
Oh, he played an old piece he called Soldier's Joy,
And he had one he called Boston Boy,
The greatest of all was Ginny Lyn,
To me that's where the fiddlin begin.
(chorus)
Oh, I'll never forget that mournful day,
When Uncle Pen was called away,
They hung up his fiddle, they hung up his bow,
You knew it was time for him to go.
(chorus)

song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Piscataqua River

Thou singest by the gleaming isles,
By woods, and fields of corn,
Thou singest, and the sunlight smiles
Upon my birthday morn.

But I within a city, I,
So full of vague unrest,
Would almost give my life to lie
An hour upon upon thy breast.

To let the wherry listless go,
And, wrapt in dreamy joy,
Dip, and surge idly to and fro,
Like the red harbor-buoy;

To sit in happy indolence,
To rest upon the oars,
And catch the heavy earthy scents
That blow from summer shores;

To see the rounded sun go down,
And with its parting fires
Light up the windows of the town
And burn the tapering spires;

And then to hear the muffled tolls
From steeples slim and white,
And watch, among the Isles of Shoals,
The Beacon's orange light.

O River! flowing to the main
Through woods, and fields of corn,
Hear thou my longing and my pain
This sunny birthday morn;

And take this song which fancy shapes
To music like thine own,
And sing it to the cliffs and capes
And crags where I am known!

poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Man In The Middle

Did you see that man in the limousine
With a pretty blond, he is fifty and the girls only seventeen
But she doesnt care, and she never will
If hes ninety-five she dont give a damn
Just as long as he pays the bill
Did you see that man with a fat cigar
He just left his lunch with a belly full of lobster and caviar
He can choose the wine from a vintage year
He can drink champagne in his limousine
While the rest of us drink a beer
cause hes the man in the middle, never second fiddle
Just like a spider in a cobweb
Hard as a hammer, not the kind of boss you double-cross
cause hes the man in the middle, knows the way to diddle
Hes never bothered by his conscience
Deals with the devil, cause he wants to be
Man in the middle, the middle, the middle
In the middle (in the middle, in the middle...)
But you see that man made a big mistake
Even though hes got all his servants and a mansion beside a lake
And the money too, all that he can spend
He can buy the most, nearly anything
But he cant buy an honest friend
cause hes the man in the middle, never second fiddle
Just like a spider in a cobweb
Hard as a hammer, not the kind of boss you double-cross
cause hes the man in the middle, knows the way to diddle
Hes never bothered by his conscience
Deals with the devil, cause he wants to be
Man in the middle, the middle, the middle
In the middle (in the middle, in the middle...)

song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Corn-Stalk Fiddle

WHEN the corn's all cut and the bright stalks shine
Like the burnished spears of a field of gold;
When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,
And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;
Then it's heigh-ho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,
For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.
And when you take a stalk that is straight and long,
With an expert eye to its worthy points,
And you think of the bubbling strains of song
That are bound between its pithy joints —
Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,
With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.
Then the strains that grow as you draw the bow
O'er the yielding strings with a practiced hand!
And the music's flow never loud but low
Is the concert note of a fairy band.
Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddle
To the simple sweets of a corn-stalk fiddle.
When the eve comes on, and our work is done,
And the sun drops down with a tender glance,
With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,
Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,
And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle —
More time than tune — from the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then brother Jabez takes the bow,
While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,
Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,
And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,
While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,
And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle.
'Salute your partners,' comes the call,
'All join hands and circle round,'
'Grand train back,' and 'Balance all,'
Footsteps lightly spurn the ground.
'Take your lady and balance down the middle'
To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.
So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,
And the merry girls are homeward gone,
But I see it all in my sleep once more,
And I dream till the very break of dawn
Of an impish dance on a red-hot griddle
To the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Violin

Four strings across the bridge,
Ready to carry me over,
Over the quavers, drunk in the bars,
Out of the realm of the orchestra,
Out of the realm of the orchestra.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Filling me up with the shivers and quivers.
Filling me up with the shivers.
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Paganini up on the chimney,
Lord of the dance,
With nero and old nicky.
Whack that devil
Into my fiddlestick!
Give me the banshees for b.v.s,*
Give me the banshees for b.v.s.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-dee.
Jigging along with the fiddle, oh, johnny.
Jigging along with the fiddle-dee-diddle-dee-dee!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!
Get the bow going!
Let it scream to me:
Violin! violin! violin!

song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines To A Lady Weeping

Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
Ah! happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's fault away!

Weep--for thy tears are Virtue's tears
Auspicious to these suffering isles;
And be each drop in future years
Repaid thee by thy people's smiles!