To the Nightingale

Ah eve lov'd bird how sweet thy music floats
E'en hodge fine musics vulgar tasteles foe
Entirely thoughtless where's he's got to go
Stands struck with wonder at thy varied notes
Untill a pause ensuing brings to mind
His work at which he starts but touch'd so strong
Rememb'rance makes him as he plods along
Sing ‘Sweet jug, jug,’ and often look behind
To where they first begun—then such as these
O bird again repeat and let me know
If they (which do so much with others please)
Can sooth in me this anguish more than woe
For sure no anguish more tormenting stings
Then that which vexing dissapointment brings

EP I 456 (unpublished elsewhere)

No comments: