Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-ward sunk:
’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thy happiness,
Than thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot