Beholds and shares; forlorn, a pray to woe
Herself, her golden tears incessant flow.[80]
Naught surely can compete with love’s delight;
But love resembles much a northern spring:
For one day’s pure and genial solar light,
Nine days of sleet and cloud discomfort bring.
Many the birds whose screams the ear affright,
But few there are, that can melodious sing:
While lapwings, sparrows, owlets never fail,
Seldom is heard the voice of nightingale.