What could be more perfect than the little lyric which begins
“Yes, it was the mountain echo
Solitary, clear, profound,
Answering to the shouting cuckoo
Giving to her sound for sound.”
How poignant is the touch with which he describes the notes of the fiery-hearted Nightingale, singing in the dusk:
“they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!”
But at sunrise other choristers make different melodies:
“The birds are singing in the distant woods;