I placed the mute eggs of the Nightingale In the warm nest, beneath a brooding thrush; And waited long, to catch the earliest gush Of the new wood-notes, in our northern vale; And, as with eye and ear I push'd my search, Their sudden music came as sweet to me, As the first organ-tone to Holy Church, Fresh from the Angel and St Cecily; And, year by year, the warblers still return From the far south, and bring us back their song, Chanting their joy our summer groves among, A tune the merle and goldfinch cannot learn; While the poor thrush, that hatch'd them, listens near, Nor knows the rival choir she settled here! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHT OF TRAFALGAR by THOMAS HARDY TO THE UNKNOWN EROS: BOOK 2: 7. TO THE BODY by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE IF WE KNEW; OR, BLESSINGS OF TO-DAY by MAY LOUISE RILEY SMITH LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 4. BALLYTULLAGH by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 6. ALLAH-AS-SALAM by EDWIN ARNOLD TO MISS KINDER, ON RECEIVING A NOTE DATED FEBRUARY 30TH by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |