POETRY.
TRIO.
THE nightingale sang softly in the wood.
As though a thousand flowers had just found speech,—
A strange, sweet tongue that only is understood
In faery lands no earthly road may reach.
"How shall the glory fail Of my immortal tale, Or any silence o'er my song prevail?"
The evening star upon the edge of night Hung like a dewdrop on a dark leaf's rim, Throbbed like a heart o'erbrimmed with pure delight, Gathering new splendour while the skies grew dim. "How shall my beauty fade, Who in the May-night's shade Henceforth am an eternal brightness made P" But the sea sighed through all its depths of grey, The sea complained on every lonely shore; "Too well I know your fate, ye joys of May, Heard and beheld a thousand times before !
Your passionate faith is vain !
I only, I remain, When light and song are fled for evermore !"
M. C. GILLINGTON.
Previous page
