Sonnet To The Nightingale Sonnet To The Nightingale |
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Sonnet To The NightingaleSonnet To The Nightingale
Sonnet To The Nightingale
O Nightingale that on yon blooming spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hopes the Lover`s heart dost fill,
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo`s bill,
Portend success in love. O if Jove`s will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet had`st no reason why.
Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
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