The Nightingale

O Nightingale, your voice is one With the north wind, it floats and circles,’ And somewhere in the twilight Takes form and hovers: I can almost touch you, but only Once you left the first childish harmony, I am left alone in the storm.

O Nightingale, sing to me now, The high embryonic notes Of a tune that anticipates me; Sing to me intimately, while I wait Like some crude element shooting out To some dim, eerily bright place.

Oh Nightingale, let the thread of your voice Spool across the sky and make a web Of something more than a wish, So the wind of winter can set it alive, And I can cradle my heart in your light.

• D H Lawrence