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1809–1893

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

Fanny Kemble

How passing sad! Listen, it sings again! Art thou a spirit, that amongst the boughs, The livelong day dost chaunt that wond'rous strain Making wan Dian stoop her silver brows

Out of the clouds to hear thee? Who shall say, Thou lone one! that thy melody is gay, Let him come listen now to that one note, That thou art pouring o'er and o'er again

Through the sweet echoes of thy mellow throat, With such a sobbing sound of deep, deep pain, I prithee cease thy song! for from my heart Thou hast made memory's bitter waters start,

And filled my weary eyes with the soul's rain.

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TO THE NIGHTINGALE. · Fanny Kemble · Poetry Cove