The Sick Man and the Nightingale

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1. To The Nightingale O Nightingale! that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover’s heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill, Portend success in love; O, if […]...
2. Sonnet to the Nightingale O nightingale that on yon blooming spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hopes the Lover’s heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo’s bill, Portend success in love. O if […]...
3. To The Nightingale Exert thy Voice, sweet Harbinger of Spring! This Moment is thy Time to sing, This Moment I attend to Praise, And set my Numbers to thy Layes. Free as thine shall be my Song; As thy Musick, short, or long. Poets, wild as thee, were born, Pleasing best when unconfin’d, When to Please is least […]...
4. To The Nightingale Sweet bird, that sing’st away the early hours Of winters past or coming, void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are, (Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers) To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers Thou thy Creator’s goodness dost declare, And what dear gifts on thee He did not spare: A […]...
5. Sonnet III: To a Nightingale Poor melancholy bird – that all night long Tell’st to the Moon, thy tale of tender woe; From what sad cause can such sweet sorrow flow, And whence this mournful melody of song? Thy poet’s musing fancy would translate What mean the sounds that swell thy little breast, When still at dewy eve thou leav’st […]...
6. Tides O patient shore, thou canst not go to meet Thy love, the restless sea, how comfortest Thou all thy loneliness? Art thou at rest, When, loosing his strong arms from round thy feet, He turns away? Know’st thou, however sweet That other shore may be, that to thy breast He must return? And when in […]...
7. The Spring And The Fall In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The trees were black where the bark was wet. I see them yet, in the spring of the year. He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach That was out of the way and hard […]...
8. Second Ode to the Nightingale BLEST be thy song, sweet NIGHTINGALE, Lorn minstrel of the lonely vale! Where oft I’ve heard thy dulcet strain In mournful melody complain; When in the POPLAR’S trembling shade, At Evening’s purple hour I’ve stray’d, While many a silken folded flow’r Wept on its couch of Gossamer, And many a time in pensive mood Upon […]...
9. Dream Song 134: Sick at 6 & sick again at 9 Sick at 6 & sick again at 9 Was Henry’s gloomy Monday morning oh. Still he had to lecture. They waited, his little children, for stricken Henry To rise up yet once more again and come oh. They figured he was a fixture, Nuts to their bolds, keys to their bloody locks. One day the […]...
10. To the Nightingale Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel! How many Bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell’d mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of Watchmen (Those hoarse unfeather’d Nightingales of Time!), How many wretched Bards address thy name, And hers, the full-orb’d Queen that […]...
11. Ode to the Nightingale SWEET BIRD OF SORROW! ­why complain In such soft melody of Song, That ECHO, am’rous of thy Strain, The ling’ring cadence doth prolong? Ah! tell me, tell me, why, Thy dulcet Notes ascend the sky. Or on the filmy vapours glide Along the misty moutain’s side? And wherefore dost Thou love to dwell, In the […]...
12. Ode To A Nightingale My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In […]...
13. Early Nightingale When first we hear the shy-come nightingales, They seem to mutter o’er their songs in fear, And, climb we e’er so soft the spinney rails, All stops as if no bird was anywhere. The kindled bushes with the young leaves thin Let curious eyes to search a long way in, Until impatience cannot see or […]...
14. I. THE PARIAH'S PRAYER DREADED Brama, lord of might! All proceed from thee alone; Thou art he who judgeth right! Dost thou none but Brahmins own? Do but Rajahs come from thee? None but those of high estate? Didst not thou the ape create, Aye, and even such as we? We are not of noble kind, For with woe […]...
15. The Chinese Nightingale A Song in Chinese Tapestries “How, how,” he said. “Friend Chang,” I said, “San Francisco sleeps as the dead- Ended license, lust and play: Why do you iron the night away? Your big clock speaks with a deadly sound, With a tick and a wail till dawn comes round. While the monster shadows glower and […]...
16. The Nightingale No cloud, no relique of the sunken day Distinguishes the West, no long thin slip Of sullen light, no obscure trembling hues. Come, we will rest on this old mossy bridge! You see the glimmer of the stream beneath, But hear no murmuring: it flows silently. O’er its soft bed of verdure. All is still. […]...
17. The Sick Rose O Rose thou art sick. The invisible worm. That flies in the night In the howling storm: Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy: And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy....
18. A Song of Pitcairn's Island Come, take our boy, and we will go Before our cabin door; The winds shall bring us, as they blow, The murmurs of the shore; And we will kiss his young blue eyes, And I will sing him, as he lies, Songs that were made of yore: I’ll sing, in his delighted ear, The island […]...
19. How sick to wait in any place but thine How sick to wait in any place but thine I knew last night when someone tried to twine Thinking perhaps that I looked tired or alone Or breaking almost with unspoken pain And I turned ducal That right was thine One port suffices for a Brig like mine Ours be the tossing wild though the […]...
20. The Nightingale's Nest Up this green woodland-ride let’s softly rove, And list the nightingale – she dwells just here. Hush! let the wood-gate softly clap, for fear The noise might drive her from her home of love ; For here I’ve heard her many a merry year- At morn, at eve, nay, all the live-long day, As though […]...
21. Night Thoughts Over A Sick Child Numb, stiff, broken by no sleep, I keep night watch. Looking for Signs to quiet fear, I creep Closer to his bed and hear His breath come and go, holding My own as if my own were All I paid. Nothing I bring, Say, or do has meaning here. Outside, ice crusts on river And […]...
22. Sonnet LXXXVI VEnemous toung tipt with vile adders sting, Of that selfe kynd with which the Furies tell Theyr snaky heads doe combe, from which a spring Of poysoned words and spitefull speeches well. Let all the plagues and horrid paines of hell, Vpon thee fall for thine accursed hyre: That with false forged lyes, which thou […]...
23. To Death (From Lenau.) If within my heart there’s mould, If the flame of Poesy And the flame of Love grow cold, Slay my body utterly. Swiftly, pause not nor delay; Let not my life’s field be spread With the ash of feelings dead, Let thy singer soar away....
24. SHE CANNOT END WHEN unto thee I sent the page all white, Instead of first thereon inscribing aught, The space thou doubtless filledst up in sport. And sent it me, to make my joy grow bright. As soon as the blue cover met my sight, As well becomes a woman, quick as thought I tore it open, leaving […]...
25. The Sick Stockrider Hold hard, Ned! Lift me down once more, and lay me in the shade. Old man, you’ve had your work cut out to guide Both horses, and to hold me in the saddle when I swayed, All through the hot, slow, sleepy, silent ride. The dawn at “Moorabinda” was a mist rack dull and dense, […]...
26. Whitsunday Listen sweet Dove unto my song, And spread thy golden wings in me; Hatching my tender heart so long, Till it get wing, and fly away with thee. Where is that fire which once descended On thy Apostles? thou didst then Keep open house, richly attended, Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men. Such glorious […]...
27. The Nightingale NO easy matter ’tis to hold, Against its owner’s will, the fleece Who troubled by the itching smart Of Cupid’s irritating dart, Eager awaits some Jason bold To grant release. E’en dragon huge, or flaming steer, When Jason’s loved will cause no fear. Duennas, grating, bolt and lock, All obstacles can naught avail; Constraint is […]...
28. The Sinner Lord, how I am all ague, when I seek What I have treasur’d in my memory! Since, if my soul make even with the week, Each seventh note by right is due to thee. I find there quarries of pil’d vanities, But shreds of holiness, that dare not venture To show their face, since cross […]...
29. Spring Greeting From the German of Herder. All faintly through my soul to-day, As from a bell that far away Is tinkled by some frolic fay, Floateth a lovely chiming. Thou magic bell, to many a fell And many a winter-saddened dell Thy tongue a tale of Spring doth tell, Too passionate-sweet for rhyming. Chime out, thou […]...
30. Deliverance from a Fit of Fainting Worthy art Thou, O Lord, of praise, But ah! It’s not in me. My sinking heart I pray Thee raise So shall I give it Thee. My life as spider’s webb’s cut off, Thus fainting have I said, And living man no more shall see But be in silence laid. My feeble spirit Thou didst […]...
31. A Translation Of The Nightingale Out Of Strada Now the declining sun ‘gan downwards bend From higher heavens, and from his locks did send A milder flame, when near to Tiber’s flow A lutinist allay’d his careful woe With sounding charms, and in a greeny seat Of shady oake took shelter from the heat. A Nightingale oreheard him, that did use To sojourn […]...
32. In The Foam Life swelleth in a whitening wave, And dasheth thee and me apart. I sweep out seaward: be thou brave. And reach the shore, Sweetheart. Beat back the backward-thrusting sea. Thy weak white arm his blows may thwart, Christ buffet the wild surge for thee Till thou’rt ashore, Sweetheart. Ah, now thy face grows dim apace, […]...
33. In Memoriam A. H. H.: 83. Dip down upon the northern shore Dip down upon the northern shore O sweet new-year delaying long; Thou doest expectant nature wrong; Delaying long, delay no more. What stays thee from the clouded noons, Thy sweetness from its proper place? Can trouble live with April days, Or sadness in the summer moons? Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire, The little speed […]...
34. The Sick God I In days when men had joy of war, A God of Battles sped each mortal jar; The peoples pledged him heart and hand, From Israel’s land to isles afar. II His crimson form, with clang and chime, Flashed on each murk and murderous meeting-time, And kings invoked, for rape and raid, His fearsome aid […]...
35. Sick Leave When I’m asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,- They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead. While the dim charging breakers of the storm Bellow and drone and rumble overhead, Out of the gloom they gather about my bed. They whisper to my heart; their thoughts are mine. ‘Why are you here with all your […]...
36. Shakespeare Others abide our question. Thou art free. We ask and ask-thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill, Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, Planting his stedfast footsteps in the sea, Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the foiled searching of […]...
37. The Sick Abbess EXAMPLE often proves of sov’reign use; At other times it cherishes abuse; ‘Tis not my purpose, howsoe’er, to tell Which of the two I fancy to excel. Some will conceive the Abbess acted right, While others think her conduct very light Be that as ’twill, her actions right or wrong, I’ll freely give a license […]...
38. Idea LIII: To the River Ancor Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore My soul-shrin’d saint, my fair Idea lies, O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes, Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring Gently distills his nectar-dropping showers, Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers; Say thus, fair brook, […]...
39. The Sick Muse My impoverished muse, alas! What have you for me this morning? Your empty eyes are stocked with nocturnal visions, In your cheek’s cold and taciturn reflection, I see insanity and horror forming. The green succubus and the red urchin, Have they poured you fear and love from their urns? The nightmare of a mutinous fist […]...
40. H. Baptism II Since, Lord, to thee A narrow way and little gate Is all the passage, on my infancy Thou didst lay hold, and antedate My faith in me. O let me still Write thee great God, and me a child: Let me be soft and supple to thy will, Small to my self, to others mild, […]...