I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
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I cannot sing the old songs
Though well I know the tune,
Familiar as a cradle-song
With sleep-compelling croon;
Yet though I'm filled with music,
As choirs of summer birds,
"I cannot sing the old songs"--
I do not know the words.

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
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Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song,
That old and antique song we heard last night.
Methought it did relieve my passion much,
More than light airs and recollected terms
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times.
Come, but one verse.

Builders, raise the ceiling high,
Raise the dome into the sky,
Hear the wedding song!
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Builders, raise the ceiling high,
Raise the dome into the sky,
Hear the wedding song!
For the happy groom is near,
Tall as Mars, and statelier,
Hear the wedding song!

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.

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.

Everything ends with songs.
[Fr., Tout finit par des chansons.]

Everything ends with songs.
[Fr., Tout finit par des chansons.]

In the ink of our sweat we will find it yet,
The song that is fit for men!

In the ink of our sweat we will find it yet,
The song that is fit for men!

The lively Shadow-World of Song.

The lively Shadow-World of Song.

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.