Maxioms by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
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'Tis the merry nightingale
That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates
With fast thick warble his delicious notes,
As he were fearful that an April night
Would be too short for him to utter forth
His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul
Of all its music!
A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.
A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn.
