Singers

She smiles, my darling smiles, and all
    The world is filled with light;
She laughs - 'tis like the bird's sweet call,
    In meadows fair and bright.
She weeps - the world is cold and gray,
    Rain-clouds shut out the view;
She sings - I softly steal away
    And wait till she gets through.

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. DCXXI. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. LXXXVI. Proverbs.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCCXXXIII. Games.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. DCXXVII. Relics.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Song

She's somewhere in the sunlight strong,
    Her tears are in the falling rain,
She calls me in the wind's soft song,
    And with the flowers she comes again.

Yon bird is but her messenger,
    The moon is but her silver car;
Yea! sun and moon are sent by her,
    And every wistful waiting star.

Richard Le Gallienne

The Singer

Years since (but names to me before),
Two sisters sought at eve my door;
Two song-birds wandering from their nest,
A gray old farm-house in the West.

How fresh of life the younger one,
Half smiles, half tears, like rain in sun!
Her gravest mood could scarce displace
The dimples of her nut-brown face.

Wit sparkled on her lips not less
For quick and tremulous tenderness;
And, following close her merriest glance,
Dreamed through her eyes the heart's romance.

Timid and still, the elder had
Even then a smile too sweetly sad;
The crown of pain that all must wear
Too early pressed her midnight hair.

Yet ere the summer eve grew long,
Her modest lips were sweet with song;
A memory haunted all her words
Of clover-fields and singing...

John Greenleaf Whittier

To Hear Her Sing.

    To hear her sing - to hear her sing -
    It is to hear the birds of Spring
    In dewy groves on blooming sprays
    Pour out their blithest roundelays.

    It is to hear the robin trill
    At morning, or the whip-poor-will
    At dusk, when stars are blossoming -
    To hear her sing - to hear her sing!

    To hear her sing - it is to hear
    The laugh of childhood ringing clear
    In woody path or grassy lane
    Our feet may never fare again.

    Faint, far away as Memory dwells,
    It is to hear the village bells
    At twilight, as the truant hears
    Them, hastening home, with smiles and tears.

    Such joy it is to hear her sing,
    We fall in love with everything -
    The simple things of every day
   ...

James Whitcomb Riley

In Early Spring

O Spring, I know thee! Seek for sweet surprise
    In the young children's eyes.
But I have learnt the years, and know the yet
    Leaf-folded violet.
Mine ear, awake to silence, can foretell
    The cuckoo's fitful bell.
I wander in a grey time that encloses
    June and the wild hedge-roses.
A year's procession of the flowers doth pass
    My feet, along the grass.
And all you sweet birds silent yet, I know
    The notes that stir you so,
Your songs yet half devised in the dim dear
    Beginnings of the year.
In these young days you meditate your part;
    I have it all by heart.

I know the secrets of the seeds of flowers
    Hidden and warm with showers,
And how, in kindling Spring, the cuckoo shall
    Alter his interval.
But not ...

Alice Meynell

Song

    You are my sky; beneath your circling kindness
    My meadows all take in the light and grow;
        Laugh with the joy you've given,
        The joy you've given,
    And open in a thousand buds, and blow.

    But when you are sombre, sad, averse, forgetful,
    Heavily veiled by clouds that brood with rain,
        Dumbly I lie all shadowed,
        I lie all shadowed,
    And dumbly wait for you to shine again.

John Collings Squire, Sir

Soeur Monique - A Rondeau By Couperin

Quiet form of silent nun,
What has given you to my inward eyes?
What has marked you, unknown one,
In the throngs of centuries
That mine ears do listen through?
This old master's melody
That expresses you,
This admired simplicity,
Tender, with a serious wit,
And two words, the name of it,
'Soeur Monique.'

And if sad the music is,
It is sad with mysteries
Of a small immortal thing
That the passing ages sing,-
Simple music making mirth
Of the dying and the birth
Of the people of the earth.

No, not sad; we are beguiled,
Sad with living as we are;
Ours the sorrow, outpouring
Sad self on a selfless thing,
As our eyes and hearts are mild
With our sympathy for Spring,
With a pity sweet and wild
For the innocent ...

Alice Meynell