song (n.)
- ado
- air
- alba
- anthem
- aria
- ballad
- ballade
- barcarole
- blues
- bother
- bravura
- brindisi
- bucolic
- calypso
- canticle
- canto
- carol
- chant
- chantey
- clerihew
- coloratura
- commotion
- crooning
- cry
- descant
- dirge
- dithyramb
- ditty
- eclogue
- elegy
- epic
- epigram
- epithalamium
- epos
- evasion
- flap
- fuss
- haiku
- hum
- humming
- hymeneal
- hymn
- idyll
- intonation
- jingle
- lay
- lied
- lilt
- limerick
- line
- lyric
- lyricism
- madrigal
- matin
- measure
- melodia
- melody
- minstrelsy
- monody
- note
- number
- ode
- pastoral
- performance
- piece
- poem
- poesy
- poetry
- prevarication
- prothalamium
- refrain
- rhyme
- rondeau
- rondel
- roundel
- roundelay
- satire
- scat
- serenade
- singing
- solfeggio
- solmization
- solo
- sonnet
- strain
- tale
- tanka
- threnody
- to-do
- treble
- tune
- verse
- versicle
- vocalization
- yodel
- yodeling
song (v.)
song (adv.)
song (adj.)
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be,—
I care for nobody, no, not I,
If no one cares for me.
But touch me, and no minister so sore;
Whoe'er offends at some unlucky time
Slides into verse, and hitches in a rhyme,
Sacred to ridicule his whole life long,
And the sad burden of some merry song.
A careless song, with a little nonsense in it now and then, does not misbecome a monarch.
In discourse more sweet;
For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense.
Others apart sat on a hill retir'd,
In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high
Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,
Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute;
And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
For dear to gods and men is sacred song.
Self-taught I sing; by Heaven, and Heaven alone,
The genuine seeds of poesy are sown.
Soft as some song divine thy story flows.
A song for our banner! The watchword recall
Which gave the Republic her station:
"United we stand, divided we fall!"
It made and preserves us a nation!
The union of lakes, the union of lands,
The union of States none can sever,
The union of hearts, the union of hands,
And the flag of our Union forever!
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes;
Flow gently, I 'll sing thee a song in thy praise.
Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.
Labour itself is but a sorrowful song,
The protest of the weak against the strong.
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.
What are the wild waves saying,
Sister, the whole day long,
That ever amid our playing
I hear but their low, lone song?
How many, once lauded in song, are given over to the forgotten; and how many who sung their praises are clean gone long ago!
And stretched metre of an antique song.
That mighty orb of song,
The divine Milton.
Fierce warres and faithful loves shall moralize my song.
That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to truth, and moraliz'd his song.
Claret is the liquor for boys, port for men; but he who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.
I will tell you now
What never yet was heard in tale or song,
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year.
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old.
I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet.
I will neither yield to the song of the siren nor the voice of the hyena, the tears of the crocodile nor the howling of the wolf.
And heaven had wanted one immortal song.
The rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the sea-maid's music.
Still govern thou my song,
Urania, and fit audience find, though few.
Short swallow-flights of song, that dip
Their wings in tears, and skim away.
Odds life! must one swear to the truth of a song?
From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,—
The incense of the heart,—may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.
What song the Sirens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women.
Just are the ways of Heaven: from Heaven proceed
The woes of man; Heaven doom'd the Greeks to bleed,—
A theme of future song!
A song to the oak, the brave old oak,
Who hath ruled in the greenwood long!
Unlike my subject now shall be my song;
It shall be witty, and it sha'n't be long.
The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame
Over his living head like heaven is bent,
An early but enduring monument,
Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song
In sorrow.
Friend to my life, which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song.
Most wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong:
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
