Poem by William Wordsworth

* * *

O Nightingale! thou surely art
A creature of a "fiery heart":—
These notes of thine—they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!
Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades, and dews, and silent night;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:
He did not cease; but cooed—and cooed;
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;
Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the song — the song for me!

1. Upon the Sight of a Beautiful Picture Painted by Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart
2. Alice Fell, Or Poverty
3. Brook! Whose Society the Poet Seeks
4. To the Memory of Raisley Calvert
5. Rural Architecture

Print

1724 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version