The Nightingale

Sweet-voiced Nightingale, what dost thou hear
So long thou dost complain? The woods are free,
And thou mayest sing where all the birds agree
To greet the morn that brings their voices near.

I walk, I wander, sing where I would cheer
My soul, whose pulses do enchain me; see
How all my thoughts take flight with thee and flee
The wearied weight that holds my heart in fear.

Ah, delicate voices, what so pure in sound?
Their warbling echoes melt into the air,
With love and freedom growing all around.

O Nightingale! thou break’st my heart with care;
I long to join thee in thy joyful key,
And let my heart play soft sweet notes with thee.

• John Davies