Unmarred from when thy notes brought in the day,
Till evening’s hush was mellowed by thy lay.
It cannot all be sad—some sweet alloy
Of Hope would seem to tremble through thy song,
And serve, when all thy mates are mute, to buoy
Thy heart, though clouds across thy heaven throng,
Though strewn all blossom, and the rude winds’ brawl
Sound the sad dirge of twilight’s sombre fall.
Whate’er it be, clear-throated, soft, and low,
It woos the stern hour with a lulling tone,