O NIGHTINGALE, the poet's bird, A kinsman dear thou art, Who never sings so well as when The rose-thorns bruise his heart. But since thy agony can make A listening world so blest, Be sure it cares but little for Thy wounded, bleeding breast! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO WORDSWORTH by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE STRANGER'S ALMS by HENRY ABBEY PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 26. AL-MUZIL by EDWIN ARNOLD HOPE DEFERRED by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE WEAVER by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN THE PATIENT WAYS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE WRITTEN FOR A LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |