|
|
 |
Listings |
 |
Charles Stuart Calverley
I can not sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.
|
Charles Stuart Calverley
I can not sing the old songs now! It is not that I deem them low, 'Tis that I can't remember how They go.
|
Helen Gray Cone
A song of hate is a song of Hell; Some there be who sing it well. Let them sing it loud and long, We lift our hearts in a loftier song: We life our hearts to Heaven above, Singing the glory of her we love, England.
|
Helen Gray Cone
A song of hate is a song of Hell; Some there be who sing it well. Let them sing it loud and long, We lift our hearts in a loftier song: We life our hearts to Heaven above, Singing the glory of her we love, England.
|
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer.
|
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Listen to that song, and learn it! Half my kingdom would I give, As I live, If by such songs you would earn it.
|
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer.
|
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Listen to that song, and learn it! Half my kingdom would I give, As I live, If by such songs you would earn it.
|
John Gneisenau Neihardt
And grant that when I face the grisly Thing, My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps Let me be as a tune-swept fiddlestring That feels the Master Melody--and snaps.
|
John Gneisenau Neihardt
And grant that when I face the grisly Thing, My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps Let me be as a tune-swept fiddlestring That feels the Master Melody--and snaps.
|
John Keats
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci.
|
John Keats
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute, In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci.
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
| |
|
Browse Categories |
|
|
|
|
