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.

A song of hate is a song of Hell;
Some there be who sing it well.
Let read more

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.

I had wanted to say that my song was far too painful to sing.

I had wanted to say that my song was far too painful to sing.

I'm a sensitive guy. If you are a woman and you're in any kind of emotional duress and you write read more

I'm a sensitive guy. If you are a woman and you're in any kind of emotional duress and you write a song about it, I'll buy you album.

You must pass your days in song. Let your whole life be a song.

You must pass your days in song. Let your whole life be a song.

Unlike my subject, I will make my song.
It shall be witty, and it shan't be long.

Unlike my subject, I will make my song.
It shall be witty, and it shan't be long.

There are more love songs than anything else. If songs could make you do something we'd all love one another.

There are more love songs than anything else. If songs could make you do something we'd all love one another.

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.

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."