NOCTURNE
O bird beneath the midnight sky! As on my lonely couch I lie, I hear thee singing in the dark— Why sing not I?
No star-gleams meet thy wakeful eye; No fond mate answers to thy cry; No other voice, through all the dark, Makes sweet reply.
Yet never skylark soaring high Where sunlit clouds rejoicing lie, Sang as thou singest in the dark, Not mute as I!
O lone, sweet spirit! tell me why So far thy ringing love-notes fly, While other birds, hushed by the dark, Are mute as I?
No prophecy of morn is nigh; Yet as the sombre hours glide by, Bravely thou singest in the dark— Why sing not I?