Singing/Lyrics

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 * (1878-1967)
 * I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
 * And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
 * And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
 * And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.


 * I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
 * Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
 * And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
 * And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.


 * I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
 * To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
 * And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
 * And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.


 * Within the woodlands, flowery gladed,
 * By the oak tree's mossy moot,
 * The shining grass-blades, timber-shaded,
 * Now do quiver under foot;
 * And birds do whistle overhead,
 * And water's bubbling in its bed,
 * And there for me the apple tree
 * Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
 * Do lean down low in Linden Lea.


 * When leaves that lately were a-springing
 * Now do fade within the copse,
 * And painted birds do hush their singing
 * Up upon the timber tops;
 * And brown-leaved fruit's a-turning red,
 * In cloudless sunshine, overhead,
 * With fruit for me, the apple tree
 * Do lean down low in Linden Lea.


 * Let other folk make money faster
 * In the air of dark-roomed towns,
 * I don't dread a peevish master;
 * Though no man do heed my frowns,
 * I be free to go abroad,
 * Or take again my homeward road
 * To where, for me, the apple tree
 * Do lean down low in Linden Lea.


 * (1850 – 1894)

The Vagabond

 * Give to me the life I love,
 * Let the lave go by me,
 * Give the jolly heaven above,
 * And the byway nigh me.
 * Bed in the bush with stars to see,
 * Bread I dip in the river -
 * There's the life for a man like me,
 * There's the life for ever.


 * Let the blow fall soon or late,
 * Let what will be o'er me;
 * Give the face of earth around,
 * And the road before me.
 * Wealth I seek not, hope nor love,
 * Nor a friend to know me;
 * All I seek, the heaven above,
 * And the road below me.


 * Or let autumn fall on me
 * Where afield I linger,
 * Silencing the bird on tree,
 * Biting the blue finger.
 * White as meal the frosty field -
 * Warm the fireside haven -
 * Not to autumn will I yield,
 * Not to winter even!


 * Let the blow fall soon or late,
 * Let what will be o'er me;
 * Give the face of earth around,
 * And the road before me.
 * Wealth I ask not, hope nor love,
 * Nor a friend to know me;
 * All I ask, the heaven above,
 * And the road below me.

Bright is the ring of words

 * Bright is the ring of words
 * When the right man rings them,
 * Fair the fall of songs
 * When the singer sings them.
 * Still they are carolled and said --
 * On wings they are carried --
 * After the singer is dead
 * And the maker buried.


 * Low as the singer lies
 * In the field of heather,
 * Songs of his fashion bring
 * The swains together.
 * And when the west is red
 * With the sunset embers,
 * The lover lingers and sings
 * And the maid remembers.

I have trod the upward and the downward slope

 * I have trod the upward and the downward slope
 * I have endured and done in days before
 * I have longed for all, and bid farewell to hope
 * And I have lived and loved, and closed the door.