| |
| WITH what a hollow dirge its voice did fill | |
| The vast and empty hollow of the night!— | |
| It had perched itself upon a tall old tree, | |
| That hung its tufted and thick clustering leaves | |
| Midway across the brook; and sung most sweetly, | 5 |
| In all the merry and heart-broken sadness | |
| Of those that love hath crazed. Clearly it ran | |
| Through all the delicate compass of its voice:— | |
| And then again, as from a distant hollow, | |
| I heard its sweet tones like an echo sounding, | 10 |
| And coming, like the memory of a friend | |
| From a far distant country—or the silent land | |
| Of the mourned and the dead, to which we all are passing; | |
| It seemed the song of some poor broken heart, | |
| Haunted forever with love’s cruel fancies!— | 15 |
| Of one that has loved much yet never known | |
| The luxury of being loved again! | |
| |
| But when the morning broke, and the green woods | |
| Were all alive with birds—with what a clear | |
| And ravishing sweetness sung the plaintive thrush; | 20 |
| I love to hear its delicate rich voice, | |
| Chanting through all the gloomy day, when loud | |
| Amid the trees is dropping the big rain, | |
| And gray mists wrap the hills;—for aye the sweeter | |
| Its song is, when the day is sad and dark. And thus, | 25 |
| When the bright fountains of a woman’s love | |
| Are gently running over, if a cloud | |
| But darken, with its melancholy shadow, | |
| The bright flowers round our way, her heart | |
| Doth learn new sweetness, and her rich voice falls | 30 |
| With more delicious music on our ears. | |
| |
