XXXV

Sing to me, sing, and sing again,

My glad, great-throated nightingale:

Sing, as the good sun through the rain —

Sing, as the home-wind in the sail!

Sing to me life, and toil, and time,

O bugle of dawn, O flute of rest!

Sing, and once more, as in the prime,

There shall be naught but seems the best.

And sing me at the last of love:

Sing that old magic of the May,

That makes the great world laugh and move

As lightly as our dream to-day!