George Darley

Lenimina Laborum. 16. To a Lady who would Sing only in the Evening

Like the bird-minstrel, votress of the Moon,
Who will not pour her misanthropic lay
Until the night grows upward to its noon,
And the winds hymn the death-song of the day.
But silent all—in woodlands far away,
A little hermit sits within her cell
Mossy and dim, where no intruding ray
Peeps thro' the solitude she loves so well:
Like her, the sweet Enchantress of the dell,
Thou wilt not sing until the stars arise;
And then, like her, for ever wilt thou dwell
On tender themes that drench sweet Pity's eyes.
Sure that old Samian fable sooth must be,
And some dead nightingale revives in thee!