Lines Upon Hearing Miss ---- Sing At An Evening Party. The Nightingale's Complaint.

The Moon had bespangled the murmuring wave,
The dew-drop had moisten'd the moss of the cave,
The summer night-breeze, like a sigh, was just heard,
When thus flow'd the strains of the dark-warbling bird:

"I hear a strange melody breathe thro' the grove,
Now swelling with joy, and now melting with love;
Tho' sweet is the sound, yet it should not invade,
Unbidden, my lonely dominion of shade.

"As long as the stars that now twinkle shall shine,
This willow's my throne, and all nature is mine:
Perchance 'tis the breeze on your desolate lute;
Its strings are now sighing, so long that were mute.

"Ah! no, silly bird that I am! shall I grieve?
Shall Envy alarm, and shall Folly deceive?
'Tis the voice of Eliza! I hear it again,
Enraptur'd I hear it, nor envy the strain."
Then Philomel flutter'd with tremulous wing
To Eliza - more happy to listen than sing!

John Carr

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John Carr

Epigram, Upon Seeing The Dilapidated State Of Bethlem Hospital.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Song.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Yarrimore.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

Lines Upon Mademoiselle Delphine Saulot Singing Some Equisite Airs In The Gardens Of Mousseau, Near Paris.

John Carr, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

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.
A balmy night! and though the stars be dim,
Yet let us think upon the vernal showers
That gladden the green earth, and we shall find
A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.
And hark! the Nightingale begins its song,
'Most musical, most melancholy' bird!
A melancholy bird? Oh! idle thought!
In Nature there is nothing melancholy.
But some night-wandering man whose heart was pierced
With the remembrance of a grievous wrong,
Or slow distemper, or neglected love,

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Songs On The Voices Of Birds. The Nightingale Heard By The Unsatisfied Heart.

    When in a May-day hush
    Chanteth the Missel-thrush
The harp o' the heart makes answer with murmurous stirs;
    When Robin-redbreast sings,
    We think on budding springs,
And Culvers when they coo are love's remembrancers.

    But thou in the trance of light
    Stayest the feeding night,
And Echo makes sweet her lips with the utterance wise,
    And casts at our glad feet,
    In a wisp of fancies fleet,
Life's fair, life's unfulfilled, impassioned prophecies.

    Her central thought full well
    Thou hast the wit to tell,
To take the sense o' the dark and to yield it so;
    The moral of moonlight
    To set in a cadence bright,
And sing our loftiest dream that we thought none did know.

    I have no nest as thou,
 ...

Jean Ingelow

Lines Written On Delia, Listening To Her Canary-Bird.

When thoughtless Delia unconcern'd surveys
Her plumy captive, as he leans to sing,
Lo! while she smiles, the fascination stays
The little heaven of its airy wing.

Ah! so she tastes the sorrows I impart,
Smiles at the sound, but never feels my pain;
And many a glance deludes my captive heart
To sigh in numbers, tho' I sigh in vain!

John Carr

On Hearing The Nightingale

Thanks for thy song, sweet Bird! thanks for thy song!
O! 'twas delightful; how have I been lost
As in a blissful dream! how has my soul
Been wafted in a sea of melody!
Scarce yet am I awake, yet scarce myself:
Still with the enchanting music's dying breath
The air is kept in motion, and conveys
Sweet whispers to the finely-listening ear;
Or is it but an echo from the cell
Of memory that deludes my doating sense?
Ah! now 'tis gone; Silence resumes her sway,
And o'er my hearing spreads her subtile web;
But she resumes it, changed, methinks, in nature,
More soft, more amiable, as if inform'd
With the departed soul of harmony.

Thanks for thy song, sweet Bird! it well deserves
All my heart's gratitude; for it has still'd
Its anxious throbbings, and remov...

Thomas Oldham

Philomel.

    Lo, as a minstrel at the court of Love,
    The nightingale, who knows his mate is nigh,
    Thrills into rapture; and the stars above
    Look down, affrighted, as they would reply.
    There is contagion, and I know not why,
    In all this clamour, all this fierce delight,
    As if the sunset, when the day did swoon,
    Had drawn some wild confession from the moon.
    Have wrongs been done? Have crimes enacted been
    To shame the weird retirement of the night?
    O clamourous bird! O sad; sweet nightingale!
    Withhold thy voice, and blame not Beauty's queen.
    She may be pure, though dumb: and she is pale,
    And wears a radiance on her brow serene.

Eric Mackay

Lines Upon Mademoiselle Delphine Saulot Singing Some Equisite Airs In The Gardens Of Mousseau, Near Paris.

In Mousseau's sweet Arcadian dale
Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain;
She charms the list'ning nightingale,
And seems th' enchantress of the plain.

Bless'd be those lips, to music dear;
Sweet songstress! never may they move
But with such sounds, to soothe the ear,
And melt the yielding heart to love.

May sorrow never bid them pour
From the torn heart one suff'ring sigh;
But be thy life a fragrant flow'r,
Blooming beneath a cloudless sky!

John Carr