THE wakeful nightingale, that takes no rest, While Cupid warms his little breast; All night how sweetly he complains, And makes us fear that love has pains: No, no, no, no, 'tis no such thing, For love that makes him wakeful, makes him sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COLORS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET TO A MOTH SEEN IN WINTER by ROBERT FROST CACHE LA POUDRE by JAMES GALVIN SMOTHERED FIRES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHEN I RISE UP by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |