Hark! that's the nightingale, Telling the selfsame tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young: So echoes answered when her song was sung In the first wooded vale. We call it love and pain The passion of her strain; And yet we little understand or know; Why should it not be rather joy that so Throbs in each throbbing vein? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A FAIR BEGGAR by PHILIP AYRES DEFEAT AND VICTORY by WALLACE RICE EN TOUR; A SONG SEQUENCE: 3. GENOA by ALBERTA BANCROFT TOM O' BEDLAM'S SONG by FRANCIS BEAUMONT STRUCTURAL IRON WORKERS by MACKNIGHT BLACK THE ROWFANT CATALOGUE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT JEHANE by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |