Autres Temps Autres Moeurs
Outdated and outmoded though it be, I listened long to that wild, piercing tune With which the nightingale charms May and June Hidden among the hazels and a sea Of may that foamed in moonlight over me.
And still rang on that song it loved to croon, Only a little younger than the moon, Which all men reverenced till recently.
But now we listen to the jackdaw's song, Free from the rules that cramped a former day, And the jay's music well contents us now. And so I went to where the hazels throng The hill-top with the thorntrees, there to say " Farewell, forgotten singer on the bough."