O lyric Love, half angel and half bird; And all a wonder and a wild desire, Boldest of hearts that ever braved the sun, Took sanctuary within the holier blue, And sang a kindred soul out to his face, Yet human at the red-ripe of the heart; When the first summons from the darkling earth Reached thee amid thy chambers, blanched their blue, And bared them of the glory to drop down, To toil for man, to suffer or to die, This is the same voice: can thy soul know change? Hail then, and hearken from the realms of help!
And as I played, a child came thro' the gate, A boy who looked at me without a word, As tho' he saw stretch far behind my head Long lines of radiant angels, row on row. That day we spoke a little, timidly, And after that I never heard the voice That sang so many songs for love of me.sara teasdale
She sang how in his ship a man would go From Belem to avenge the cruel shame. The weight it bears the ocean shall not know, That great Pacheco who shall justly claim Of Portuguese Achilles' glorious name; When he embarks, the surging waves his weight Shall feel, and all the vessel's beams and frame Shall groan oppressed beneath the burthen great, And in the water sink below its usual state.
I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.edna st. vincent millay
I will sing no more songs: the pride of my country I sang Through forty long years of good rhyme, without any avail; And no one cared even as much as the half of a hang For the song or the singer, so here is an end of the tale.Da i bh| dh OÅ Bruadair
Years and years ago, when I was a boy, when there were wolves in Wales, and birds the colour of red-flannel petticoats whisked past the harp-shaped hills, when we sang and wallowed all night and day in caves that smelt like Sundayafternoons in damp front farmhouse parlours, and we chased, with the jawbones of deacons, the English and the bears, before the motor car, before the wheel, before the duchess-faced horse, when we rode the daft and happy hills bareback, it snowed and it snowed.
Mantua me genuit, Calabri rapuere, tenet nunc Parthenope; cecini pascua rura duces. Mantua brought me life,Calabria death; now Naples holds me: I sang of flocks and farms and heroes.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:I cannot say what loves have come and gone,I only know that summer sang in meA little while, that in me sings no more.edna st. vincent millay
A lot of songs I sang to crowds to get their reaction. That's how I knew they'd hit.little richard
He sang of love, with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee; That was the song,— the song for me!william wordsworth
And the just man trailed God's shining agent, over a black mountain, in his giant track, while a restless voice kept harrying his woman: "It's not too late, you can still look back at the red towers of your native Sodom, the square where once you sang, the spinning-shed, at the empty windows set in the tall house where sons and daughters blessed your marriage-bed."anna akhmatova
I brewed potions in a vain search for life everlasting, I read books, I sang songs of history, And today I've come home to Cold Mountain To pillow my head on the stream and wash my ears.han shan
Our hearts seemed safe in our breasts and sang to the Light The marrow in the bone We dreamed was safe. . . the blood in the veins, the sap in the tree Were springs of Deity.edith sitwell
(Spoken) He came out, kinda like tonight, like I am, with just a guitar, and sang some songs. I thought, shit, I could do that.todd snider
When buttercups are blossoming, The poets sang, 'tis best to wed: So all for love we paired in Spring , Blanche and I, ere youth had sped.edmund clarence stedman
There he got out the luncheon-basket and packed a simple meal, in which, remembering the stranger's origin and preferences, he took care to include a yard of long French bread, a sausage out of which the garlic sang, some cheese which lay down and cried, and a long-necked straw-covered flask wherein lay bottled sunshine shed and garnered on far Southern slopes.”
The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion call, And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute, But I love him best of all. For his song is all the joy of life, And we in the mad spring weather, We two have listened till he sang Our hearts and lips together.
Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height, What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang) In height and cold, the splendour of the hills?
When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy.