Music poems
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Afterword For Weeds By The Wall
© Madison Julius Cawein
_What vague traditions do the golden eves.
What legends do the dawns
Inscribe in fire on Heaven's azure leaves,
The red sun colophons?_
The Death Of Shelley
© Charles Harpur
Fit winding-sheet for thee
Was the upheaving eternal sea,
Fit dirge the tempests slave-alarming roll
For yokeless as the waves alway
How Tuneful Is The Voice Of Sea
© Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev
How tuneful is the voice of sea,
What true accord in ocean's murmur,
And in the reed's light, rhythmic tremour
What tender musicality!
Roslin and Hawthornden
© Henry Van Dyke
FAIR Roslin Chapel, how divine
The art that reared thy costly shrine!
Thy carven columns must have grown
By magic, like a dream in stone.
The Shepheardes Calender: December
© Edmund Spenser
I thee beseche (so be thou deigne to heare,
Rude ditties tund to shepheards Oaten reede,
Or if I euer sonet song so cleare,
As it with pleasaunce mought thy fancie feede)
Hearken awhile from thy greene cabinet,
The rurall song of carefull Colinet.
The First-Born
© Alaric Alexander Watts
Never did music sink into my soul
So âsilver sweet,â as when thy first weak wail
Torto Volitans Sub Verbere Turbo Quem Pueri Magno In Gyro Vacua Atria Circum Intenti Ludo Exercent
© James Clerk Maxwell
Of pearies and their origin I sing:
How at the first great Jove the lord of air
Si Mis Manos Pudieran Deshojar -- With English Translation
© Federico Garcia Lorca
Yo pronuncio tu nombre,
En esta noche oscura,
Y tu nombre me suena
Más lejano que nunca.
Más lejano que todas las estrellas
Y más doliente que la mansa lluvia.
The Glory of the Day Was In Her Face
© James Weldon Johnson
The glory of the day was in her face,
The beauty of the night was in her eyes.
And over all her loveliness, the grace
Of Morning blushing in the early skies.
Our Lives
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Our lives are songs. God writes the words,
And we set them to music at pleasure;
And the song grows glad, or sweet, or sad,
As we choose to fashion the measure.
The Princess (part 5)
© Alfred Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'
Einstein
© Archibald MacLeish
Standing between the sun and moon preserves
A certain secrecy. Or seems to keep
To Sir Walter Scott
© William Lisle Bowles
ON ACCIDENTLY MEETING AND PARTING WITH SIR WALTER SCOTT, WHOM I HAD NOT
SEEN FOR MANY YEARS, IN THE STREETS OF LONDON
'Soeur Monique'
© Alice Meynell
But two words, and this sweet air.
Soeur Monique,
Had he more, who set you there?
Was his music-dream of you
Of some perfect nun he knew,
Or of some ideal, as true?
Wortermelon Time
© James Whitcomb Riley
Old wortermelon time is a-comin' round again,
And they ain't no man a-livin' any tickleder'n me,
Fer the way I hanker after wortermelons is a sin--
Which is the why and wharefore, as you can plainly see.
The Joy Of Life.
© Robert Crawford
I have the man's-heart in me, and 'tis noble
To be alive, to think, to feel, to have
My part in all the precious come-and-go
Of all things here. My very blood's a-tune
Shakespeare's Kingdom
© Alfred Noyes
When Shakespeare came to London
He met no shouting throngs;
He carried in his knapsack
A scroll of quiet songs.
