Though now 'tis neither May nor June And Nightingales are out of tune, Yett in these leaves (Faire one) there lyes (Sworne servant to your sweetest Eyes) A Nightingale, who may shee spread In your white bosome her chast bed, Spite of all the Maiden snow Those pure untroden pathes can show, You streight shall see her wake and rise Taking fresh Life from your fayre Eyes; And with clasp't winges proclayme a spring Where Love and shee shall sit and sing, For lodg'd so ne're your sweetest throte What Nightingale can loose her noate? Nor lett her kinred birds complayne Because shee breakes the yeares old raigne, For lett them know shee's none of those Hedge-Quiristers whose Musicke owes Onely such straynes as serve to keepe Sad shades and sing dull Night asleepe. No shee's a Priestesse of that Grove The holy chappell of chast Love Your Virgin bosome. Then what e're Poore Lawes divide the publicke yeare, Whose revolutions wait upon The wild turnes of the wanton sun; Bee you the Lady of Loves Yeere: Where your Eyes shine his suns appeare: There all the yeare is Loves long spring. There all the yeare Loves Nightingales shall sitt and sing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SIGNS OF THE TIMES by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR GRASS FINGERS by ANGELINA WELD GRIMKE GOOD-BYE MY FANCY! by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 84. DHU'L JADAL WA'L IKRAM by EDWIN ARNOLD THE LAST MAN: SUBTERRANEAN CITY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE SHADOW OF THE YEARS by BERTON BRALEY VALERIAN by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB CLEVEDON VERSES: 9. THE VOICES OF NATURE by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |