O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy 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 head before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend sucess in love. Oh, 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 hadst no reason why. Whether the Muse of Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEAD PAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 18 by THOMAS CAMPION THE BRACELET: TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF THE LIFE AND DEATH OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS by CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE POLWART ON THE GREEN by ALLAN RAMSAY ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA by HENRY WOTTON THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS |