When Daniel Boone goes by, at night,
The phantom deer arise
And all is lost, wild America
Is burning in their eyes.
“Daniel Boone” by Stephen Vincent Benét [w/ Audio]
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Category Archives: Lyric
“To Tirzah” by William Blake [w/ Audio]
Whate'er is Born of Mortal Birth
Must be consumed with the Earth
To rise from Generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
The Sexes sprung from Shame & Pride,
Blow'd in the morn; in evening died;
But Mercy chang'd Death to Sleep;
The Sexes rose to work & weep.
Thou, Mother of my Mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my Heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my Nostrils, Eyes, & Ears:
Didst close my Tongue in senseless clay,
And me to Mortal Life betray.
The Death of Jesus set me free:
Then what have I to do with thee?
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“Away with Funeral Music” by Robert Louis Stevenson [w/ Audio]
Away with funeral music -- set
The pipe to powerful lips --
The cup of life's for him that drinks
And not for him that sips.
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“An Ancient Proverb” by William Blake [w/ Audio]
Remove away that black'ning church:
Remove away that marriage hearse:
Remove away that man of blood:
You'll quite remove the ancient curse.
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Panther [Lyric]
The panther is a scary cat:
Hardcore Hellcat primed for combat.
Except - that is - I have to say
The twenty hours it sleeps per day.
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“Aftermath” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]
When the summer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the falling of the snow,
With the cawing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the aftermath.
Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this harvesting of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowen mixed with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.
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“Lethe” by Walter de la Mare [w/ Audio]
Only the Blessed of Lethe's dews
May stoop to drink. And yet,
Were their Elysium mine to lose,
Could I, sans all repining, choose
Life's sorrows to forget?
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Slow Fire [Lyric Poem]
Explosion in slow motion
Rocks the boats that line the ocean:
Swaying, swaying, they swing to and fro!
Metronomic masts set to tempo, s l o w.
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Let it Float [Lyric Poem]
Sans fear of dying,
The angst of trying
Is felt and left
To float.
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“The Bustle in a House” (1108) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
The Bustle in a House
The Morning after Death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted opon Earth --
The Sweeping up the Heart
And putting Love away
We shall not want to use again
Until Eternity --
Tiger Riding for Beginners 