Nightingale
O’ Nightingale, how sad thy song
That thou pourest from thy heart!
What sort of thing so direfully wrong
Has taken thee apart?
Thy sorrowed song makes evening weep!
Thy haunted tune turns moon to gray!
What kind of pain profoundly deep,
Has wrought your shadow with dismay?
Alas! To thee- O’ mourning ghost!
A bird thy hardly are!
That from beyond the uppermost-
Thou hast fallen as a star!
© PoetryPublishing.Net
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