Hark! that's the nightingale, Telling the selfsame tale Her song told when this ancient earth was young: So echoes answered when her song was sung In the first wooded vale. We call it love and pain The passion of her strain; And yet we little understand or know; Why should it not be rather joy that so Throbs in each throbbing vein? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FORCE OF LOVE by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES SONG (10) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE DAY-DREAM: THE SLEEPING PALACE by ALFRED TENNYSON ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 12. ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS IN COUNTRY by MARK AKENSIDE SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 38. THE RETREAT FROM MOSCOW by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TO A YOUNG MOTHER by HELEN DARBY BERNING THE SPAN OF LIFE by LEVI BISHOP THE THREE SAD SHEPPARDESSES, GOE TO A LITTLE TABLE, WHERE THEY SINGE by ELIZABETH BRACKLEY |