The Nightingale Hark to the nightingale’s gentle plea,
In the moonlit grove, a secret melody.
Each note a soft whisper of love’s refrain,
It weaves through the night like a silken chain.
With the stars as her audience, brightly they twink,
As she pours out her heart, the silence does shrink.
In the cool of the dusk, beneath the tall trees,
Her song mingles sweetly with the soft evening breeze.
Oh, nightingale! sing of joy and despair,
For your voice is a treasure, beyond all compare.

• F T Palgrave