Nightingales

Lyrics

Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom Ye learn your song: Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air Bloom the year long! Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams: Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams A throe of the heart Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound For all our art Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then As night is withdrawn From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of May Dream, while the innumerable choir of day