"Darkly, deeply, beautifully blue," As some one somewhere sings about the sky.
Oh, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In Englandnow!Robert Browning
My definition of country music is really pretty simple. It's when someone sings about their life and what they know, from an authentic place.Taylor Swift
And the elephant sings deep in the forest-maze About a star of deathless and painless peace But no astronomer can find where it is.
He could not be captured,He could not be bought,His running was rhythm,His standing was thought;With one eye on sorrowAnd one eye on mirth,He galloped in heavenAnd gambolled on earth.And only the poetWith wings to his brainCan mount him and ride himWithout any rein,The stallion of heaven,The steed of the skies,The horse of the singerWho sings as he flies.Eleanor Farjeon
Inside the henhouse from where he will be taken to be killed, the cock sings hymns to liberty because he was given two perches.fernando pessoa
God would be a very selfish god if he gave all the soul to one race. ... When one sings from the heart and it reaches another heart, that's soul.little richard
Rucker sings of loss and despair as if they've left him shell-shocked. But Hootie -- born at frat parties and still a bar band at heart -- know how to deliver beers-and-tears material, and the occasional anti-racist slam, with a smile. The same sly grin crept into songs of frustration -- country writer Radney Foster's "A Fine Line" and the Who's "I Can't Explain." But Rucker is no more Charley Pride than Bryan is Pete Townshend.darius rucker
That man’s best works should be such bungling imitations of Nature’s infinite perfection, matters not much; but that he should make himself an imitation, this is the fact which Nature moans over, and deprecates beseechingly. Be spontaneous, be truthful, be free, and thus be individuals! is the song she sings through warbling birds, and whispering pines, and roaring waves, and screeching winds.lydia maria child
The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us, thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.john muir
While I deduce, From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of spring.james thomson
Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings?Alexander Pope
Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate
Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit; Tu-who, a merry note.william shakespeare
Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings, But the immensest empire is too narrow for two kings.
A nightingale dies for shame if another bird sings better.robert burton
Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound; She feels no biting pang the while she sings; Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around, Revolves the sad vicissitudes of things.
Sure thou did'st nourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still-enduring skies; While the low violet thrives at their root.Henry Vaughan
Perch'd on the cedar's topmost bough, And gay with gilded wings, Perchance the patron of his vow, Some artless linnet sings.william shenstone
’T is strange that death should sing! I am the cygnet to this pale faint swan, Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death; And, from the organ-pipe of frailty, sings His soul and body to their lasting rest.william shakespeare