HIGH on a gnarled and mossy forest bough, Dreaming, I hang between the earth and sky, The golden moon through leafy mystery Gazing aslant at me with glowing brow. And since all living creatures slumber now, O nightingale, save only thou and I, Tell me the secret of thine ecstacy, That none may know save only I and thou. Alas, all vainly doth my heart entreat; Thy magic pipe unfolds but to the moon What wonders thee in faëry worlds befell: To her is sung thy midnight music sweet, And ere she wearies of thy mellow tune, She hath thy secret, and will guard it well! |