Now once more! And yet again!
Love-sighs can it be? or songs?—
No, it is distinctly snoring.—
Dulcet strain! Anitra sleepeth!
Nightingale, thy warbling stay!
Every sort of woe betide thee,
If with gurgling trill thou darest—
But, as says the text: Let be!
Nightingale, thou art a singer;
Ah, even such an one am I.