O Nightingale! that on yon bloomy spray <br />Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, <br />Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, <br />While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. <br />Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, <br />First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, <br />Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will <br />Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, <br />Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate <br />Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; <br />As thou from year to year hast sung too late <br />For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: <br />Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, <br />Both them I serve, and of their train am I.<br /><br />John Milton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-nightingale-3/
