O nightingale, best poet of the grove, That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, Bless'd in the full possession of thy love: O lend that strain, sweet Nightingale, to me! 'Tis mine, alas! to mourn my wretched fate: I love a maid who all my bosom charms, Yet lose my days without this lovely mate; Inhuman fortune keeps her from my arms. You, happy birds! by nature's simple laws Lead your soft lives, sustain'd by nature's fare; You dwell wherever roving fancy draws, And love and song is all your pleasing care: But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride, Dare not be bless'd, lest envious tongues should blame: And hence, in vain, I languish for my bride! O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE KNIGHT'S TOMB by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TIRED TIM by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW QUATORZAINS: 1. TO PERFUME by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE SECRET OF THE WATERFALL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET PINE BRANCH by BERENICE BRIGHAM |