 | Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights |  |
SONNET TO ISA.
As some lone Nightingale, his mate within her nest,The whole night long in sweet, harmonious strains—
(Tending her young beneath her fostering breast—)
Pledging his love, repays her for her pains,
And all those irksome duties she fulfills
Of incubation—fills the silent woods
With music, sometimes softer than the rills—
Then louder—gushing—till the solitudes
Are deluged with unfathomed song, which flows,
Like incense from an Altar, all around,
As sweet as perfume from the trampled rose—
Filling the bending heavens with odorous sound—
So does my soul as bounteous as the dew,
Pour out its gratitude in song for you!
Middletown, Conn., April 10, 1839.
| Virginalia ; or, songs of my summer nights | |