The Nightingale

O Nightingale, with voice so clear, Your song doth pierce the silent air, In midst of darkness, you appear, A herald of the night’s sweet care.

Each note you sing, a drop of dew, That falls upon the listening ear, With melodies of love so true, You cast away the weight of fear.

So let your heart be free to soar, With wings that brush the heavens bright, For in your song, we all explore, The beauty that resides in night.

• Mary Elizabeth Coleridge