 | Poems for children |  |
117
THE NIGHTINGALE.
There is a bird, a plain, brown bird,
That dwells in lands afar,
Whose wild, delicious song is heard
With evening's first white star.
That dwells in lands afar,
Whose wild, delicious song is heard
With evening's first white star.
When, dewy-fresh and still, the night
Steals to the waiting world,
And the new moon glitters silver bright,
And the fluttering winds are furled:
Steals to the waiting world,
And the new moon glitters silver bright,
And the fluttering winds are furled:
When the balm of summer is in the air,
And the deep rose breathes of musk,
And there comes a waft of blossoms fair
Through the enchanted dusk;
And the deep rose breathes of musk,
And there comes a waft of blossoms fair
Through the enchanted dusk;
Then breaks the silence a heavenly strain,
And thrills the quiet night
With a rich and wonderful refrain,
A rapture of delight.
And thrills the quiet night
With a rich and wonderful refrain,
A rapture of delight.
All listeners that rare music hail,
All whisper softly: “Hark!
It is the matchless nightingale
Sweet singing in the dark.”
All whisper softly: “Hark!
It is the matchless nightingale
Sweet singing in the dark.”
118
He has no pride of feathers fine;
Unconscious, too, is he,
That welcomed as a thing divine
Is his clear minstrelsy.
Unconscious, too, is he,
That welcomed as a thing divine
Is his clear minstrelsy.
But from the fulness of his heart
His happy carol pours;
Beyond all praise, above all art,
His song to heaven soars.
His happy carol pours;
Beyond all praise, above all art,
His song to heaven soars.
And through the whole wide world his fame
Is sounded far and near;
Men love to speak his very name;
That brown bird is so dear.
Is sounded far and near;
Men love to speak his very name;
That brown bird is so dear.
| Poems for children | |