THE wind, stirring in the dark foliage, brings Songs to me of the wakeful nightingale; At intervals a stranger music rings. Whence are these voices that now light, Now deeply echo from the night And now of their own beauty fail? The apple bough of white That at my open window rocks and sways, Against the pane its dewy blossom lays, Shines magically in the blanchèd light, A sabbath radiance covers all the ways; My vision waxes vast and wide: Oh, there arises now a solemn tide For those who live in dreams, the delicate Souls that to every subtle tone vibrate Which from God's harp rings forth and prophesies That he forever His busy hand in ancient music plies, And will not end the song of His delight. Thus ends it never— Hark, what a tone of love passed through the night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR WHITTIER by MARGARET ELIZABETH MUNSON SANGSTER ENVOY: 2. TO MY MOTHER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE MIST AND ALL by DIXIE WILLSON ASOLANDO: ARCADES AMBO by ROBERT BROWNING |