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 Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
 Of winter's past or coming void of care,
  Well read more 
 Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
 Of winter's past or coming void of care,
  Well pleased with delights which present are,
   Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers. 
 I said to the Nightingale:
 "Hail, all hail!
  Pierce with thy trill the dark,
   read more 
 I said to the Nightingale:
 "Hail, all hail!
  Pierce with thy trill the dark,
   Like a glittering music-spark,
    When the earth grows pale and dumb." 
I have head the nightingale herself.
I have head the nightingale herself.
 Hark! ah, the nightingale--
 The tawny-throated!
  Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
   read more 
 Hark! ah, the nightingale--
 The tawny-throated!
  Hark from that moonlit cedar what a burst!
   What triumph! hark!--what pain!
    . . . .
     Again--thou hearest?
      Eternal passion!
       Eternal pain! 
The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.
The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale.
 Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
 Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
  Up the hill-side; read more 
 Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
 Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
  Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
   In the next valley-glades:
    Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
     Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep? 
 The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
 The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
  Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
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 The sunrise wakes the lark to sing,
 The moonrise wakes the nightingale.
  Come, darkness, moonrise, everything
   That is so silent, sweet, and pale:
    Come, so ye wake the nightingale. 
 Where the nightingale doth sing
 Not a senseless, tranced thing,
  But divine melodious truth.  
 Where the nightingale doth sing
 Not a senseless, tranced thing,
  But divine melodious truth. 
 Hark! that's the nightingale,
 Telling the self-same tale
  Her song told when this ancient earth was young:
read more 
 Hark! that's the nightingale,
 Telling the self-same tale
  Her song told when this ancient earth was young:
   So echoes answered when her song was sung
    In the first wooded vale.