Evening Songs
XIV
That nightingale has not retired
And she’s with song all ringing;
That song of love, so long, my God,
When will she be done singing?
From one twig to another twig,
From upper to the nether—
And I believe that the same plight
In hearts we bear together.
And turning up her serene eye
She looks in each direction—
And I believe that I could guess
What is her eyes’ attraction.
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