THE DARKSOME NIGHTINGALE

Why dost thou, darksome Nightingale,

Sing so distractingly — and here?

Dawn's preludings prick my ear,

Faint light is creeping up the vale,

While on these dead thy rarer

Song falls, dark night-farer.

Were it not better thou shouldst sing

Where the drenched lilac droops her plume,

Spreading frail banners of perfume?

Or where the easeless pines enring

The river-lullèd village

Whose lads the lilac pillage?

Oh, if aught songful these hid bones

Might reach, like the slow subtle rain,

Surely the dead had risen again

And listened, white by the white stones;

Back to rich life song-charmed,

By ghostly joys alarmed.

This may not be. And yet, oh still

Pour like night dew thy richer speech

Some late-lost youth perchance to reach,

Or unloved girl; and stir and fill

Their passionless cold bosoms

Under red wallflower blossoms!