BEHOLD! the silver moon how bright! Behold! how clear the azure night, The air breathes not one murmur now, Nor trembles in the grove one bough: In plaintive notes of sweetest wail Now only sings the nightingale, From hawthorn bush to elm tree flies, Still seeking her for whom he sighs. Scarce has she caught the distant lay Ere hastening on from spray to spray, She seems to answer, nestling near, "Cease, cease complaining—I am here." Irene! ah! what sounds of bliss, What plaints are these, what love is this! Ah! never yet my fondest sigh Could win from thee a like reply. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REASONS FOR DRINKING by HENRY ALDRICH ON BOARD THE '76; WRITTEN FOR BRYANT'S SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE SHEPHEARDES CALENDER: JULY by EDMUND SPENSER THE FLITCH OF BACON: MY OLD COMPLAINT (ITS CAUSE AND CURE) by WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH VINCENT VAN GOGH by HARRIET R. BEAN EUCALYPTUS TREES by SISTER BENEDICTION PSALM 10. UT QUID DOMINE by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |