O nightingale, best poet of the grove, <br />That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, <br />Blessed in the full possession of thy love: <br />O lend that strain, sweet Nighingale, to me! <br /> <br />'Tis mine, alas! to mourn a wretched fate: <br />I love a maid who all my bosom charms, <br />Yet lose my days without this lovely mate; <br />Inhuman fortune keeps her from my arms. <br /> <br />You happy birds! by nature's simple laws <br />Lead your soft lives, sustained by nature's fare; <br />You dwell wherever roving fancy draws, <br />And love and song is all your pleasing care: <br /> <br />But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride, <br />Dare not be blessed, lest envious tongues should blame; <br />And hence, in vain I languish for my bride! <br />O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame.<br /><br />James Thomson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-nightingale-6/
