(@3To his wife Procne, the nightingale@1) DEAR comrade, arise, from slumber awake, let flow the sad rapture of hallowed song; mindful of Itys, ever-wept, sing on, tell again old tales of your sorrow and mine. There's a throbbing in air as the heavenly cry of your brown bright throat travels up, flung clear through the bryony-leaf skyward to high-throned Zeus in his heaven. To the sorrowful sound golden Apollo gives ear, and a sweet response strikes out on his ivoried lute. Ranged round to his will celestial choirs in unison chant, giving out from lips immortal a sound loud-voiced, of all heaven acclaiming. (@3A pipe-solo follows, representing the nightingale.@1) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEMORIAL VERSES by MATTHEW ARNOLD JUST & UNJUST by CHARLES SYNGE CHRISTOPHER BOWEN THE DIFFERENCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE VIKING by CLARIBEL WEEKS AVERY THE WHISTLE OF THE TRAIN by LEVI BISHOP THE LITTLE PEOPLE OF THE SNOW by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: COUNT RINALDO RINALDI by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |