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ghizela rowe - walt whitman - warble of lilac time كلمات أغنية

warble me now, for joy of lilac_time
sort me, o tongue and lips, for nature’s sake, and sweet life’s
sake—and death’s the same as life’s
souvenirs of earliest summer—birds’ eggs, and the first berries;
gather the welcome signs, (as children, with pebbles, or stringing sh_lls)
put in april and may—the hylas croaking in the ponds—the elastic air
bees, b_tterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes
blue_bird, and darting swallow—nor forget the high_hole flashing his golden wings
the tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor
spiritual, airy insects, humming on gossamer wings
shimmer of waters, with fish in them—the cerulean above;

all that is jocund and sparkling—the brooks running
the maple woods, the crisp february days, and the sugar_making;
the robin, where he hops, bright_eyed, brown_breasted
with musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset
or flitting among the trees of the apple_orchard, building the nest of his mate;
the melted snow of march—the willow sending forth its yellow_green sprouts;
—for spring_time is here! the summer is here! and what is this in it and from it?
thou, soul, unloosen’d—the restlessness after i know not what;
come! let us lag here no longer—let us be up and away!
o for another world! o if one could but fly like a bird!

o to escape—to sail forth, as in a ship!
to glide with thee, o soul, o’er all, in all, as a ship o’er the waters!
—gathering these hints, these preludes—the blue sky, the grass, the morning drops of dew;
(with additional songs—every spring will i now strike up additional songs
nor ever again forget, these tender days, the chants of death as well as life)
the lilac_scent, the bushes, and the dark green, heart_shaped leaves
wood violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence
samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere
to tally, drench’d with them, tested by them
cities and artificial life, and all their sights and scenes
my mind henceforth, and all its meditations—my recitatives
my land, my age, my race, for once to serve in songs
(sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,)
to grace the bush i love—to sing with the birds
a warble for joy of lilac_time

- ghizela rowe

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