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Best Famous Tra La La Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Tra La La poems. This is a select list of the best famous Tra La La poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Tra La La poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of tra la la poems.

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Written by J R R Tolkien | Create an image from this poem

O! Where Are You Going?

 O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The River is flowing!
O! Tra-la-la-lally
Here down in the valley!

O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking!
The bannocks are baking!
O! Tril-lil-lil-lolly
The valley is jolly
Ha ha!

O! Where are you going,
With beards all a-wagging?
No knowing, no knowing
What brings Mister Baggins,
And Balin and Dwalin
Down into the valley
In June
Ha ha!

O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying!
To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly!
And listen and hark
Till the end of the dark
To our tune.
Ha ha! The dragon is withered, His bones are now crumbled! His armor is shivered, His splendour is humbled! Though sword shall be rusted And throne and crown perish, With strength that men trusted And wealth that they cherish, Here grass is still growing, And leaves are yet swinging! The white water is flowing, And elves are yet singing! Come! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the valley! The stars are far brighter Than gems without measure, The moon is far whiter Than silver in treasure: The fire is more shining On hearth in the gloaming Than gold won by mining, So why so a-roaming? O! Tra-la-la-lally! Come back to the Valley! O! Where are you going? So late in returning? The water is flowing! The stars are all burning! O! Whither so laden, So sad and so dreary? Here elf and elf-maiden Now welcome the weary! With tra-la-la-lally Come back to the Valley, Tra-la-la-lally Fa-la-la-lally Ha ha!


Written by T S (Thomas Stearns) Eliot | Create an image from this poem

Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar

 Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire—nil nisi divinum stabile est; caetera fumus—the gondola
stopped, the old palace was there, how charming its grey and pink—goats and
monkeys, with such hair too!—so the countess passed on until she came through the
little park, where Niobe presented her with a cabinet, and so departed.
BURBANK crossed a little bridge Descending at a small hotel; Princess Volupine arrived, They were together, and he fell.
Defunctive music under sea Passed seaward with the passing bell Slowly: the God Hercules Had left him, that had loved him well.
The horses, under the axletree Beat up the dawn from Istria With even feet.
Her shuttered barge Burned on the water all the day.
But this or such was Bleistein’s way: A saggy bending of the knees And elbows, with the palms turned out, Chicago Semite Viennese.
A lustreless protrusive eye Stares from the protozoic slime At a perspective of Canaletto.
The smoky candle end of time Declines.
On the Rialto once.
The rats are underneath the piles.
The jew is underneath the lot.
Money in furs.
The boatman smiles, Princess Volupine extends A meagre, blue-nailed, phthisic hand To climb the waterstair.
Lights, lights, She entertains Sir Ferdinand Klein.
Who clipped the lion’s wings And flea’d his rump and pared his claws? Thought Burbank, meditating on Time’s ruins, and the seven laws.
Written by Paul Laurence Dunbar | Create an image from this poem

RIDING TO TOWN

When labor is light and the morning is fair,
I find it a pleasure beyond all compare
To hitch up my nag and go hurrying down
And take Katie May for a ride into town;
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our lay.
There's joy in a song as we rattle along
In the light of the glorious day.
A coach would be fine, but a spring wagon's good;
My jeans are a match for Kate's gingham and hood;
The hills take us up and the vales take us down,
But what matters that? we are riding to town,
And bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la sing we.
There's never a care may live in the air
That is filled with the breath of our glee.
And after we've started, there's naught can repress
The thrill of our hearts in their wild happiness;
The heavens may smile or the heavens may frown,
And it's all one to us when we're riding to town.
For bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
[Pg 71]But tra-la-la-la we shout,
For our hearts they are clear and there 's nothing to fear,
And we've never a pain nor a doubt.
The wagon is weak and the roadway is rough,
And tho' it is long it is not long enough,
For mid all my ecstasies this is the crown
To sit beside Katie and ride into town,
When bumpety-bump goes the wagon,
But tra-la-la-la our song;
And if I had my way, I 'd be willing to pay
If the road could be made twice as long.

Book: Reflection on the Important Things