From the brake the Nightingale
Sings exulting to the Rose;
Though he sees her waxing pale
In her passionate repose
While she triumphs waxing frail,
Fading even while she glows;
Though he knows
How it goes -
Knows of last year's Nightingale,
Dead with last year's Rose.

Wise the enamoured Nightingale,
Wise the well-beloved Rose!
Love and life shall still prevail,
Nor the silence at the close
Break the magic of the tale
In the telling, though it shows -
Who but knows
How it goes!
Life a last year's Nightingale,
Love a last year's Rose.