Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, TO THE NIGHTINGALE, by ANNE FINCH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

TO THE NIGHTINGALE, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: Exert thy voice, sweet harbinger of spring
Last Line: Or censure what we cannot reach.
Alternate Author Name(s): Kingsmill, Anne; Winchilsea, Countess Of
Variant Title(s): The Poet To The Nightingale
Subject(s): Birds; Nightingales; Poetry & Poets


Exert thy voice, sweet harbinger of spring!
This moment is thy time to sing,
This moment I attend to praise,
And set my numbers to the lays.
Free as thine shall be my song,
As thy music, short or long.
Poets, wild as thee, were born,
Pleasing best when unconfined,
When to please is least designed,
Soothing but still their cares to rest;
Cares do still their thoughts molest,
And still the unhappy poet's breast,
Like thine, when best he sings, is placed against a thorn.

She begins. Let all be still!
Muse, thy promise now fulfill!
Sweet, oh sweet! still sweeter yet!
Canst thou syllables refine,
Melt a sense that shall retain
Still some spirit of the brain,
Till with sounds like these it join?
'Twill not be! then change thy note,
Let division shake thy throat.
Hark! division now she tries,
Yet as far the Muse outflies.
Cease then, prithee, cease thy tune!
Trifler, wilt thou sing till June?
Till thy business all lies waste,
And the time of building's past?
Thus we poets that have speech,
Unlike what thy forests teach,
If a fluent vein be shown
That's transcendent to our own,
Criticize, reform, or preach,
Or censure what we cannot reach.





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