Age-old quivering Heart of Song,
Nightingale! when the ancients heard
Your voice a-tremble the live night long
Plaintively—'t was no bird

But Philomela, the tongueless child
Agonized in her outrage, trying
To sing her secret clear, and wild
With the impotence of her crying. …

Nightingale! In this English wood
I know how carelessly you call;
But your voice awakes a passionate mood
To the old futility of it all.