The Nightingale

A glorious sound is in the vale, A nightingale sings on the gale; With notes so sweet, and passion clear, It fills the heart, while drawing near.

In every brake, each lovely glade, Its airy notes weave forest shade, So soft and sweet; with rapt delight, It’s felt through woods in evening light.

So silent are the sad-struck oaks, That listen to its happy yokes, For spring has come on soothing breeze, And each sung note whispers of peace.

• John Clare