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...DOMESDAY BOOK: BARRETT BAYS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MOTHER AND SON by KAREN SWENSON A MEDITATION ON RHODE ISLAND COAL by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT TO JANE: THE RECOLLECTION by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THESEUS, SELECTION by BACCHYLIDES EPIGAEA ASLEEP by WILLIAM WHITMAN BAILEY SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 3. BEAUTY UNLOOKED FOR by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |