The well-tuned warble of her nightly sorrow.[231]
Again in the Sonnets:
As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing,
And stops her pipe in growth of riper days:
Not that the summer is less pleasant now
Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.[232]
The poet has brought Philomel into his fairy-land, and has for the moment left out any reference to the alleged mournfulness of her music:
Philomel, with melody