O nightingale! how hast thou learnt <br />The note of the nested dove? <br />While under thy bower the fern hangs burnt <br />And no cloud hovers above! <br />Rich July has many a sky <br />With splendour dim, that thou mightst hymn, <br />And make rejoice with thy wondrous voice, <br />And the thrill of thy wild pervading tone! <br />But instead of to woo, thou hast learnt to coo: <br />Thy song is mute at the mellowing fruit, <br />And the dirge of the flowers is sung by the hours <br />In silence and twilight alone. <br /> <br />O nightingale! 'tis this, 'tis this <br />That makes thee mock the dove! <br />That thou hast past thy marriage bliss, <br />To know a parent's love. <br />The waves of fern may fade and burn, <br />The grasses may fall, the flowers and all, <br />And the pine-smells o'er the oak dells <br />Float on their drowsy and odorous wings, <br />But thou wilt do nothing but coo, <br />Brimming the nest with thy brooding breast, <br />'Midst that young throng of future song, <br />Round whom the Future sings!<br /><br />George Meredith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-a-nightingale-2/
