SISTER of love-lorn Poets, Philomel! How many Bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennelled mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen (Those hoarse unfeathered Nightingales of Time!), How many wretched Bards address thy name, And hers, the full-orbed Queen that shines above. But I do hear thee, and the high bough mark, Within whose mild moon-mellowed foliage hid Thou warblest sad thy pity-pleading strains. O! I have listened, till my working soul, Waked by those strains to thousand phantasies, Absorbed hath ceased to listen! Therefore oft, I hymn thy name: and with a proud delight Oft will I tell thee, Minstrel of the Moon! "Most musical, most melancholy" Bird! That all thy soft diversities of tone, Tho' sweeter far than the delicious airs That vibrate from a white-armed Lady's harp, What time the languishment of lonely love Melts in her eye, and heaves her breast of snow, Are not so sweet as is the voice of her, My Sara -- best beloved of human kind! When breathing the pure soul of tenderness, She thrills me with the Husband's promised name! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPLANDS IN MAY by CARL SANDBURG THISTLE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS MY DEARLING by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN SALLY IN OUR ALLEY by HENRY CAREY (1687-1743) AT SUNSET TIME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR ABBEY ASAROE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |