Re: Poetry, Jingles, Doggerel and Song Lyrics
Posted: 09 Jun 2014, 16:50
I had never heard of Edgar Guest or his poetry but I do like "Good Books". Thanks for sharing with us, Daisy.
For the discussion of all aspects of the life and works of Enid Blyton.
http://www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk/forums/
http://www.enidblytonsociety.co.uk/forums/viewtopic.php?f=18&t=2548
Buffalo Bill 's defunct
who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death
e e cummings
Lucy: An Illusion
Now, now as the sun climbs the hills,
Softly she skips on the sand,
Daughter of the breeze
Free, like the swifts of the sky, I see her,
Dim, through the panes of my tears, I see her,
Then she is here, mine, always around me -
Mine till the morning mist comes.
Now, now that the evening must fall,
Weary, she sits by the river,
Kind winds toss her hair,
Free, like the swifts of the sky, I see her,
Dim, through the panes of the tears, I see her.
Then she is here, mine, always around me.
Her warm touch, glad to have found me.
Day-long - walking my kingdom,
Her soft smile speaking of freedom.
Now, now that the evening has gone,
Deep in a slumber she lies,
Golden hair to touch,
Free, like the swifts of the sky, I see her.
Dim, through the panes of my tears, I see her,
Then she's no more than just an illusion,
Mine till the morning mist comes.
I didn't know that Jesus was a handsome man.Buffalo Bill 's defunct
who used to ride a watersmooth-silver stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
Jesus he was a handsome man
.....
http://solitary-walker.blogspot.co.uk/2 ... -bird.html" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;
The Unknown Bird By Edward Thomas
Three lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be heard
If others sang; but others never sang
In the great beech-wood all that May and June.
No one saw him: I alone could hear him
Though many listened. Was it but four years
Ago? or five? He never came again.
Oftenest when I heard him I was alone,
Nor could I ever make another hear.
La-la-la! he called, seeming far-off—
As if a cock crowed past the edge of the world,
As if the bird or I were in a dream.
Yet that he travelled through the trees and sometimes
Neared me, was plain, though somehow distant still
He sounded. All the proof is—I told men
What I had heard.
I never knew a voice,
Man, beast, or bird, better than this. I told
The naturalists; but neither had they heard
Anything like the notes that did so haunt me,
I had them clear by heart and have them still.
Four years, or five, have made no difference. Then
As now that La-la-la! was bodiless sweet:
Sad more than joyful it was, if I must say
That it was one or other, but if sad
'Twas sad only with joy too, too far off
For me to taste it. But I cannot tell
If truly never anything but fair
The days were when he sang, as now they seem.
This surely I know, that I who listened then,
Happy sometimes, sometimes suffering
A heavy body and a heavy heart,
Now straightway, if I think of it, become
Light as that bird wandering beyond my shore.