All in the Golden Afternoon

by Lewis Carroll

All in the golden afternoon
      Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
      By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
      Our wanderings to guide.

Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour.
      Beneath such dreamy weather.
To beg a tale of breath too weak
      To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
      Against three tongues together?

Imperious Prima flashes forth
      Her edict 'to begin it'—
In gentler tone Secunda hopes
      'There will be nonsense in it!'—
While Tertia interrupts the tale
      Not more than once a minute.

Anon, to sudden silence won,
      In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
      Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast—
      And half believe it true.

And ever, as the story drained
      The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
      To put the subject by,
'The rest next time—' 'It is next time!'
      The happy voices cry.

Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
      Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out—
      And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
      Beneath the setting' sun.

Alice! a childish story take,
      And with a gentle hand
Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined
      In Memory's mystic band,
Like pilgrim's wither'd wreath of flowers
      Pluck'd in a far-off land.

Stanley Park

by Aoife O'Donovan

See that gull on the old sea wall
Songbirds fly and others fall
I sleep to the beating of their wings
The wind sings

See that babe at her mother's breast
If I could, I'd take my rest
Back in the belly from where I came
Nobody knows my name

Half-asleep in a bowl of gruel
No one told me life was cruel
My home is in this valley now
But it's burning down

If I find a fire escape
I'll break the past and put on my cape
I'll pretend I'm Superman
Where are my friends?

I'm a poor wayfarer, and I've
Got no one to dry my eyes
Time to lay this body down
In the frozen ground

When I die, though it bring me back
As a snow-white gull I'll make my tracks
On the sandy beach of the English bay
And I'll fly away

Sunny Afternoon

by Ray Davies

The taxman's taken all my dough
And left me in my stately home
Lazing on a sunny afternoon
And I can't sail my yacht
He's taken everything I got
All I've got is this sunny afternoon

Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze
I've got a big fat mama trying to break me
And I love to live so pleasantly
Live this life of luxury
Lazing on a sunny afternoon
In the summertime

My girlfriend's run off with my car
And gone back to her ma and pa
Telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty
Now I'm sitting here
Sipping at my ice cold beer
Lazing on a sunny afternoon

Help me, help me, help me sail away
Give me two good reasons why I ought to stay
'Cause I love to live so pleasantly
Live this life of luxury
Lazing on a sunny afternoon
In the summertime

What the Bird Said Early in the Year

by C.S. Lewis

I heard in Addison’s Walk a bird sing clear:
This year the summer will come true. This year. This year.

Winds will not strip the blossom from the apple trees
This year, nor want of rain destroy the peas.

This year time’s nature will no more defeat you,
Nor all the promised moments in their passing cheat you.

This time they will not lead you round and back
To Autumn, one year older, by the well-worn track.

This year, this year, as all these flowers foretell,
We shall escape the circle and undo the spell.

Often deceived, yet open once again your heart,
Quick, quick, quick, quick!—the gates are drawn apart.

Winterlude

by Bob Dylan

Winterlude, Winterlude, oh darling
Winterlude by the road tonight
Tonight there will be no quarrelin'
Ev'rything is gonna be all right
Oh, I see by the angel beside me
That love has a reason to shine
You're the one I adore, come over here and give me more
Then Winterlude, this dude thinks you're fine

Winterlude, Winterlude, my little apple
Winterlude by the corn in the field
Winterlude, let's go down to the chapel
Then come back and cook up a meal
Well, come out when the skating rink glistens
By the sun, near the old crossroads sign
The snow is so cold, but our love can be bold
Winterlude, don't be rude, please be mine

Winterlude, Winterlude, my little daisy
Winterlude by the telephone wire
Winterlude, it's making me lazy
Come on, sit by the logs in the fire
The moonlight reflects from the window
Where the snowflakes, they cover the sand
Come out tonight, ev'rything will be tight
Winterlude, this dude thinks you're grand

My November Guest

by Robert Frost

My sorrow, when she's here with me,
      Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
      She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
      She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
      Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
      The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
      And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
      The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
      And they are better for her praise.

Thrasher

by Neil Young

They were hiding behind hay bales
They were planting in the full moon
They had given all they had for something new
But the light of day was on them
They could see the thrashers coming
And the water shone like diamonds in the dew

And I was just getting up
Hit the road before it's light
Trying to catch an hour on the sun
When I saw those thrashers rolling by
Looking more than two lanes wide
I was feeling like my day had just begun

Where the eagle glides descending
There's an ancient river bending
Through the timeless gorge of changes
Where sleeplessness awaits
I searched out my companions
Who were lost in crystal canyons
When the aimless blade of science
Slashed the pearly gates

It was then I knew I'd had enough
Burned my credit card for fuel
Headed out to where the pavement turns to sand
With a one-way ticket to the land of truth
And my suitcase in my hand
How I lost my friends I still don't understand

They had the best selection
They were poisoned with protection
There was nothing that they needed
Nothing left to find
They were lost in rock formations
Or became park bench mutations
On the sidewalks and in the stations
They were waiting, waiting

So I got bored and left them there
They were just deadweight to me
Better down the road without that load
Brings back the time when I was eight or nine
I was watching my mama's TV
It was that great Grand Canyon rescue episode

Where the vulture glides descending
On an asphalt highway bending
Through libraries and museums
Galaxies and stars
Down the windy halls of friendship
To the rose clipped by the bullwhip
The motel of lost companions
Waits with heated pool and bar

But me I'm not stopping there
Got my own row left to hoe
Just another line in the field of time
When the thrasher comes, I'll be stuck in the sun
Like the dinosaurs in shrines
But I'll know the time has come
To give what's mine

Sloop John B

Traditional

We come on the sloop John B
My grandfather and me
Around Nassau town we did roam
Drinking all night
Got into a fight
Well, I feel so broke up
I want to go home

So hoist up the John B's sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the captain ashore
Let me go home
I want to go home
Well, I feel so broke up
I want to go home

The first mate he got drunk
And broke in the captain's trunk
The constable had to come and take him away
Sheriff John Stone
Why don't you leave me alone?
Well, I feel so broke up
I wanna go home

The poor cook he caught the fits
And threw away all my grits
And then he took and he ate up all of my corn
Let me go home
Why don't they let me go home?
This is the worst trip
I've ever been on

Lazy Old Sun

by Ray Davies

Lazy old sun
What have you done to summertime?
Hiding away
Behind all those misty thunder clouds

I don't mind
To spend my time
Looking for you
For you are my one reality
When I'm dead and gone
Your light will shine eternally
Sunny rain, shine my way
Kiss me with one ray of light from your lazy old sun

You make the rainbows
And you make the night disappear
You melt the frost
So I won't criticize my sun

When I was young
My world was three foot, seven inch tall
When you were young
There was no world at all
Sunny rain, shine my way
Kiss me with one ray of light from your lazy old sun

To the Thawing Wind

by Robert Frost

Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
Bring the singer, bring the nester;
Give the buried flower a dream;
Make the settled snow-bank steam;
Find the brown beneath the white;
But whate'er you do to-night,
Bathe my window, make it flow,
Melt it as the ices go;
Melt the glass and leave the sticks
Like a hermit's crucifix;
Burst into my narrow stall;
Swing the picture on the wall;
Run the rattling pages o'er;
Scatter poems on the floor;
Turn the poet out of door.

Snow-flakes

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Out of the bosom of the Air,
      Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
      Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
            Silent, and soft, and slow
            Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
      Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
      In the white countenance confession,
            The troubled sky reveals
            The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
      Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
      Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
            Now whispered and revealed
            To wood and field.

Reluctance

by Robert Frost

Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept
The end of a season?

Die selige Morgentraumdeut-Weise

by Richard Wagner

Morgenlich leuchtend im rosigen Schein,
von Blüt' und Duft
geschwellt die Luft,
voll aller Wonnen,
nie ersonnen,
ein Garten lud mich ein,
dort unter einem Wunderbaum,
von Früchten reich behangen,
zu schau'n in sel'gem Liebestraum,
was höchstem Lustverlangen.
Erfüllung kühn verhiess,
das schönste Weib:
Eva im Paradies!

Abendlich dämmernd umschloss mich die Nacht;
auf steilem Pfad
war ich genaht
zu einer Quelle
reiner Welle,
die lockend mir gelacht:
dort unter einem Lorbeerbaum,
von Sternen hell durchschienen,
ich schaut' im wachen Dichtertraum,
von heilig holden Mienen,
mich netzend mit dem edlen Nass,
das hehrste Weib,
die Muse des Parnass!

Huldreichster Tag,
dem ich aus Dichters Traum erwacht!
Das ich erträumt, das Paradies,
in himmlisch neu verklärter Pracht
hell vor mir lag,
dahin lachend nun der Quell den Pfad mir wies;
die, dort geboren,
mein Herz erkoren,
der Erde lieblichstes Bild,
als Muse mir geweiht,
so heilig hehr als mild,
ward kühn von mir gefreit,
am lichten Tag der Sonnen,
durch Sanges Sieg gewonnen
Parnass und Paradies!

In the Hour of Not Quite Rain

by Micki Callen

In the hour of not quite rain
when the fog was fingertip high
The moon hung suspended
in a singular sky

Deeply and beyond seeing
not wishing to intrude
Bathed in its own reflection
the water mirrored the moon

The tumbling birds have now sobered
from the leaves of their nursery
Like shadowy, quiet children
watching sleepily

How Great Thou Art

by Carl G. Boberg
Trans. Stuart K. Hine

O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the works thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed:

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!

When through the woods and forest glades I wander
And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur,
And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze:

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!

And when I think that God, his Son not sparing,
Sent him to die, I scarce can take it in,
That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away my sin.

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to thee:
How great thou art! How great thou art!

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then shall I bow in humble adoration,
And there proclaim, My God, how great thou art!

Moonlight in Vermont

by John Blackburn

Pennies in a stream
Falling leaves, a sycamore
Moonlight in Vermont

Icy finger waves
Ski trails on a mountain side
Snowlight in Vermont

Telegraph cables, they sing down the highway
And travel each bend in the road
People who meet in this romantic setting
Are so hypnotized by the lovely...

Evening summer breeze
Warbling of a meadowlark
Moonlight in Vermont

A Prayer in Spring

by Robert Frost

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

Country

by Paul Weller

I know a place not far from here
Where life's sweet perfume fills the air
And if you want I'll take you there
If you want I'll take you there

Into the light out of the dark
Where only love can heal your heart
And if you want I'll make a start
If you want I'll make a start

This place I say, half-hour away
Is that so far to go, so near?
And further on we'll find the time
And lose the discontent we feel

I feel the time we've yet to reach
Is not within our own belief
But I feel sure that time will come
If it goes on at all

I know a place not far from here
Where fresh cut grass will fill your hair
And if you want we'll lay a while there
If you want we'll lay a while there

Christmas Trees

by Robert Frost

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn't thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I'd hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I'd hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine,
I said, 'There aren't enough to be worth while.'
'I could soon tell how many they would cut,
You let me look them over.'

'You could look.
But don't expect I'm going to let you have them.'
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and round. The latter he nodded 'Yes' to,
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer's moderation, 'That would do.'
I thought so too, but wasn't there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,
And came down on the north.
He said, 'A thousand.'

'A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?'

He felt some need of softening that to me:
'A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.'

Then I was certain I had never meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand Christmas trees I didn't know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn't lay one in a letter.
I can't help wishing I could send you one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

Hope of a Lifetime

by Kenneth Pattengale

There's a light that's shining down
And a calm wind in the pine
For the fate of a fearsome travesty
Seems to have forgotten me

If it hasn't learned by now
Where I've hid so very long
I'll come safely out into the silence fell
In the wake of its passing on

A Spartan smile and westward stare
Hold a promise in the air
That's the way they used to find their own way home
By the stars, on their own

While I pray for promised land
To replace all I have made
Darkness steals the light I bear
In the hope of a lifetime phase

In the new-found reverie
Of quiet peace I've found
Freedom comes from being unafraid
Of the heartache that can plague a man