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!

So lonely 'twas that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

So lonely 'twas that God himself
Scarce seemed there to be.

O, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
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O, it is pleasant, with a heart at ease,
Just after sunset, or by moonlight skies,
To make the shifting clouds be what you please,
Or let the easily persuaded eyes
Own each quaint likeness issuing from the mould
Of a friend's fancy.

He holds him with his glittering eye--
. . . .
And listens like a three years' read more

He holds him with his glittering eye--
. . . .
And listens like a three years' child.

Prose--words in their best order;--poetry--the best words in
their best order.

Prose--words in their best order;--poetry--the best words in
their best order.