The Nightingale’s Children.
Hark, a voice that cries and calls,1
As the summer twilight falls ;2
Deep with longing, keen with pain,3
Sobbing through the summer rain.4
‘ Wake, wake, wake !5
Ere my heavy heart doth break ! ’6
’Tis the bird of silver tongue7
Singing summer leaves among,8
Calling on her children dead9
With the wet leaves overhead :10
In the living, leafy wood,11
Calling on her silent brood,12
Ever still and lifeless born13
To the nightingale forlorn.14
‘ Wake, wake, wake !15
Waken ere my heart doth break ! ’16
Nightingale of golden throat !17
Sobbing forth thy silver note ;18
Were it ours, thy charmèd skill,19
Might we raise our dead at will.20
Is there ought we would not give ?21
Would we leave, so they might live,22
Aught unventured, aught unsaid,23
Could they wake, the dreams born dead ?24