The Nightingale
A silver song in the twilight mist, A flutter and tremor of beautiful bliss. Through fragrant scents of the blossomed trees, It weaves a fabric that whispers of ease.
O nightingale! adrifts in flight, Your melodies weave the tapestry bright, As moonlight bathes the meadows fair, And wraps them in folds of your gentle air.
For in the heart of the darkened hours, You bring to life the most precious flowers; With a song that lifts in the cool night clear, And fills the silence with whispers dear.
- Wilfrid Wilson Gibson