Twilight Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Blackird now is never done,
Sweetheart! O Sweetheart!
The Thrush to Love makes orison.

Now are the littlest fowls begun,
Sweetheart! O Sweetheart!
Housebuilding all till set of sun.

Blithe Chanticleer his horn has blown,
Sweetheart! O Sweetheart!
New iris hath the dove put on:

Call in the softest monotone,
Sweetheart! O Sweetheart!
It is not good to live alone.

The Lark from Heaven drops like a stone,
Sweetheart! O Sweetheart!
Straight to his lovely love is gone.

The Nightingale makes lover's moan,
Sweetheart! O Sweetheart!
Pressing his breast Love's thorn upon.

Each to his dainty feathered ones,
Sweetheart! O Sweetheart!
Singing his lover's Lauds and Nones.