Caricamento in corso...

Sonnet to the Nightingale

O nightingale that on yon blooming spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hopes the Lover’€™s heart dost fill,
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo’€™s bill,
Portend success in love. O if Jove’€™s will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late
For my relief, yet had’€™st no reason why.
Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
Altre opere di John Milton...



Top