The Nightingale’s Song O, when the well-timed day is gone
And the dusky night descends,
A breathless silence grows upon
The distance where all music ends.

In every bird their song is sweet
Yet joy it gives to those who hear,
Long before the footfall’s beat
And then the familiar voices near.

There’s music deep in every night
And echoes from the woods alone,
When suddenly the world takes flight
To sing of flowers and touch the stone.

• John Clare