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Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
Songs consecrate to truth and liberty.
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never read more
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Rumania
Sing a song of sixpence.
Sing a song of sixpence.
The lively Shadow-World of Song.
The lively Shadow-World of Song.
And grant that when I face the grisly Thing,
My song may trumptet down the gray Perhaps
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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.
Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound;
She feels no biting pang the while she sings,
Nor read more
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.
She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early read more
She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with
pity: and when winter evenings fall early (sitting at her merry
wheel), she sings a defiance to the giddy wheel of
fortune . . . and fears no manner of ill because she means none.
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."
He play'd an ancient ditty long since mute,
In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans merci."
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
The song on its mighty pinions
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven.
