A milky white pearl necklace,I got,
and a wide smile on my face,it brought.
The pearls,round and smooth,
Shining softly,like a moon beam,
through a curtain seam,
and this sight,the eyes it soothed.
It feels like satin on my neck,
as once more in the mirror,I check.
I can see it in my eyes,
as I find it hard to dis-guise,
the sorrow I feel inside,
sans the one who gave me,
this beautiful piece of jewelry.
The Power of the word.
A thousand thoughts,
A countless feelings,
A million opinions,
All expressed in evanescening words.
Words that are said,
Words that fade,
Words that are believed,
Words that are understood,
Words that are hoped to have meant,
because words have many meaning,
and sometimes none at all.
Words that are sweet,
but empty,
Words that are true,
but they sting.
Words that leave a mark,
Words that are dark,
Words that enlighten,
Words that can kill,
of their own will.
Words that become music,
And words that live in many hearts!
Words meant though unspoken,
are powerful than an infinite words,
spoken,yet are not,from the heart.
A countless feelings,
A million opinions,
All expressed in evanescening words.
Words that are said,
Words that fade,
Words that are believed,
Words that are understood,
Words that are hoped to have meant,
because words have many meaning,
and sometimes none at all.
Words that are sweet,
but empty,
Words that are true,
but they sting.
Words that leave a mark,
Words that are dark,
Words that enlighten,
Words that can kill,
of their own will.
Words that become music,
And words that live in many hearts!
Words meant though unspoken,
are powerful than an infinite words,
spoken,yet are not,from the heart.
"And this Song of the Vine,
This greeting of mine,
The winds and the birds shall deliver
To the Queen of the West*,
In her garlands dressed,
On the banks of the Beautiful River**"...
This is inscribed in the new fountain square in Cincinnati. By new, I mean after the whole renovation. I saw this song written there yesterday and I was totally taken in by it. Anyways,I took these four lines to memory and did some research online to find out more.
This whole poem is by H.W.Longfellow. Song of the Vine, is its name.Vine street is named so because of Vineyards !!- the street was full of grape vine plantations pioneered by a lawyer called Nicholas Longworth! A specific variety of the grape called the "Catawba", fluorished here,yielding a refreshingly unique wine of the time. And these lines are a part of the lyric he wrote about the Catawba!!
* - Cinci is called the Queen city
** - the Ohio river..Coz these plantations stretched upto the banks of the river.
The whole poem goes as follows:
Ode to Catawba Wine
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(Written In Praise of Longworth's Catawba Wine)
This song of mine
Is a song of the Vine
To be sung by the glowing embers
Of wayside inns,
When the rain begins
To darken the drear Novembers.
It is not a song
Of the Scuppernong,
From warm Carolinian valleys,
Nor the Isabel
And the Muscadel
That bask in our garden alleys.
Nor the red Mustang,
Whose clusters hang
O’er the waves of the Colorado,
And the fiery flood
Of whose purple blood
Has a dash of Spanish bravado.
For the richest and best
Is the wine of the West,
That grows by the Beautiful River,
Whose sweet perfume
Fills all the room
With a benison on the giver.
And as hollow trees
Are the haunts of bees,
Forever going and coming;
So this crystal hive
Is all alive
With a swarming and buzzing
and humming.
Very good in its way
Is the Verzenay,
Or the Sillery soft and creamy;
But Catawba wine
has a taste more divine,
More dulcet, delicious and dreamy.
There grows no vine
By the haunted Rhine,
By Danube or Quadalquivir,
Nor on island or cape,
That bears such a grape
As grows by the Beautiful River.
Drugged is their juice
For foreign use,
When shipped o’er
the reeling Atlantic,
To rack our brains
With the fever pains,
That have driven the
Old World Frantic.
To the sewers and sinks
With all such drinks,
And after them tumble the mixer,
For a poison malign
Is such Borgia wine,
Or at best but a Devil’s elixir.
While pure as a spring
Is the wine I sing,
And to praise it,
one needs but name it;
For Catawba wine
Has need of no sign,
No tavern-bush to proclaim it.
And this Song of the Vine,
This greeting of mine,
The winds and the birds shall deliver
To the Queen of the West,
In her garlands dressed,
On the banks of the Beautiful River.
Also very evident is the city`s German influence.In the poem, the allusions to the River Rhine,is an classic example. Early German settlers found the vieyards and the river Ohio very similar to those back home.
H.W.Longfellow published this poem in his anthology "Birds of Passage (Flight the First)" in 1858.
Ref: http://www2.eos.net/beerwine/longworth.html
http://library.cincymuseum.org/cinfaq7menu.htm
http://www.hwlongfellow.org/poems_front.php
This greeting of mine,
The winds and the birds shall deliver
To the Queen of the West*,
In her garlands dressed,
On the banks of the Beautiful River**"...
This is inscribed in the new fountain square in Cincinnati. By new, I mean after the whole renovation. I saw this song written there yesterday and I was totally taken in by it. Anyways,I took these four lines to memory and did some research online to find out more.
This whole poem is by H.W.Longfellow. Song of the Vine, is its name.Vine street is named so because of Vineyards !!- the street was full of grape vine plantations pioneered by a lawyer called Nicholas Longworth! A specific variety of the grape called the "Catawba", fluorished here,yielding a refreshingly unique wine of the time. And these lines are a part of the lyric he wrote about the Catawba!!
* - Cinci is called the Queen city
** - the Ohio river..Coz these plantations stretched upto the banks of the river.
The whole poem goes as follows:
Ode to Catawba Wine
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(Written In Praise of Longworth's Catawba Wine)
This song of mine
Is a song of the Vine
To be sung by the glowing embers
Of wayside inns,
When the rain begins
To darken the drear Novembers.
It is not a song
Of the Scuppernong,
From warm Carolinian valleys,
Nor the Isabel
And the Muscadel
That bask in our garden alleys.
Nor the red Mustang,
Whose clusters hang
O’er the waves of the Colorado,
And the fiery flood
Of whose purple blood
Has a dash of Spanish bravado.
For the richest and best
Is the wine of the West,
That grows by the Beautiful River,
Whose sweet perfume
Fills all the room
With a benison on the giver.
And as hollow trees
Are the haunts of bees,
Forever going and coming;
So this crystal hive
Is all alive
With a swarming and buzzing
and humming.
Very good in its way
Is the Verzenay,
Or the Sillery soft and creamy;
But Catawba wine
has a taste more divine,
More dulcet, delicious and dreamy.
There grows no vine
By the haunted Rhine,
By Danube or Quadalquivir,
Nor on island or cape,
That bears such a grape
As grows by the Beautiful River.
Drugged is their juice
For foreign use,
When shipped o’er
the reeling Atlantic,
To rack our brains
With the fever pains,
That have driven the
Old World Frantic.
To the sewers and sinks
With all such drinks,
And after them tumble the mixer,
For a poison malign
Is such Borgia wine,
Or at best but a Devil’s elixir.
While pure as a spring
Is the wine I sing,
And to praise it,
one needs but name it;
For Catawba wine
Has need of no sign,
No tavern-bush to proclaim it.
And this Song of the Vine,
This greeting of mine,
The winds and the birds shall deliver
To the Queen of the West,
In her garlands dressed,
On the banks of the Beautiful River.
Also very evident is the city`s German influence.In the poem, the allusions to the River Rhine,is an classic example. Early German settlers found the vieyards and the river Ohio very similar to those back home.
H.W.Longfellow published this poem in his anthology "Birds of Passage (Flight the First)" in 1858.
Ref: http://www2.eos.net/beerwine/longworth.html
http://library.cincymuseum.org/cinfaq7menu.htm
http://www.hwlongfellow.org/poems_front.php
Are you going to Scarborough fair?
Nostalgic and poignant....
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
For once she was a true love of mine.
Have her make me a cambric shirt
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Without a seam or fine needle work
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Have her wash it in yonder dry well
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Where ne'er a drop of water e'er fell
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Have her find me an acre of land
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Between the sea and over the sand
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Plow the land with the horn of a lamb
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Then sow some seeds from north of the dam
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
If she tells me she can't, I'll reply
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Let me know that at least she will try
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Love imposes impossible tasks
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Though not more than any heart asks
And I must know she's a true love of mine.
Dear, when thou hast finished thy task
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Come to me, my hand for to ask
For thou then art a true love of mine.
- My Gods again.
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
For once she was a true love of mine.
Have her make me a cambric shirt
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Without a seam or fine needle work
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Have her wash it in yonder dry well
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Where ne'er a drop of water e'er fell
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Have her find me an acre of land
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Between the sea and over the sand
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Plow the land with the horn of a lamb
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Then sow some seeds from north of the dam
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
If she tells me she can't, I'll reply
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Let me know that at least she will try
And then she'll be a true love of mine.
Love imposes impossible tasks
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Though not more than any heart asks
And I must know she's a true love of mine.
Dear, when thou hast finished thy task
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Come to me, my hand for to ask
For thou then art a true love of mine.
- My Gods again.
Remember me when I m gone,
far away to an unknown land,
where the sands
of time,stand still,
and everything is eternal,
yet as ephemeral,
as our lives
on this earth.
When everything ceases
to exist,
my memories outlive,
long enough to forgive,
the follies of those,
who just chose,
to dismember,
the vestiges of my efforts.
far away to an unknown land,
where the sands
of time,stand still,
and everything is eternal,
yet as ephemeral,
as our lives
on this earth.
When everything ceases
to exist,
my memories outlive,
long enough to forgive,
the follies of those,
who just chose,
to dismember,
the vestiges of my efforts.
Sound of Silence
Hello darkness, my old friend,
Ive come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one deared
Disturb the sound of silence.
Fools said i,you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you.
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the signs said, the words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whisperd in the sounds of silence.
- S&G. Hail my Gods!
Ive come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.
And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one deared
Disturb the sound of silence.
Fools said i,you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you.
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the signs said, the words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whisperd in the sounds of silence.
- S&G. Hail my Gods!
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