26.12.2010, 12:15
TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
O honey-throated warbler of the grove !
That in the glooming woodland art so proud
Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud,
Thou dost not own a note we do not love ;
The moon is o'er thee, laying out the lawn >
In mighty shadows—but the western skies
Are kept awake, to see the sun arise,
Though earth and heaven would fain put back the dawn !
While, wandering for the dreams such seasons give,
With lonely steps, and many a pause between.
The lover listens to thy songs unseen ;
And if, at times, the pure notes seem to grieve,
Why lo ! he weeps himself, and must believe
That sorrow is a part of what they mean !
O honey-throated warbler of the grove !
That in the glooming woodland art so proud
Of answering thy sweet mates in soft or loud,
Thou dost not own a note we do not love ;
The moon is o'er thee, laying out the lawn >
In mighty shadows—but the western skies
Are kept awake, to see the sun arise,
Though earth and heaven would fain put back the dawn !
While, wandering for the dreams such seasons give,
With lonely steps, and many a pause between.
The lover listens to thy songs unseen ;
And if, at times, the pure notes seem to grieve,
Why lo ! he weeps himself, and must believe
That sorrow is a part of what they mean !