Explore "The Nightingale" by Alice Meynell on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
AS it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap and birds did sing,
Trees did grow and plants did spring;
Everything did banish moan
Save the Nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn, / Leaned her breast up-till a thorn, / And there sung the dolefull'st ditty / That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry; / Teru, teru, by and by: / That to hear her so complain / Scarce I could from tears refrain; / For her griefs so lively shown / Made me think upon mine own. / -Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain, / None takes pity on thy pain: / Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, / Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; / King Pandion, he is dead, / All thy friends are lapped in lead: / All thy fellow birds do sing / Careless of thy sorrowing: / Even so, poor bird, like thee / None alive will pity me.