O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hopes the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes, that close the eye of day, First head before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend sucess in love. Oh, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. Whether the Muse of Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BATTLE-CRIES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE TWO SAYINGS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING TO MY MERE ENGLISH CENSURER by BEN JONSON EMBLEMS OF LOVE: 23. SOONER WOUNDED THAN CURED by PHILIP AYRES THE LONELY WALK by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS ANSWER TO LINES WRITTEN IN ROUSSEAU'S LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THIS LITTLE WORLD by HOMER HIGH CALHOUN MASQUE AT THE MARRIAGE OF THE EARL OF SOMERSET: CHORUS (1) by THOMAS CAMPION |