by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
The nightingale
Language: English
Hark how the Nightingale displayes the latest pleasures of her throat, And dies content, if her poor Note micht serve but as one step to raise a Trophie to your Beautie's praise. The Rose, in whose rich Odours lie the perfum'd Treasures of the year, Doth blush to death when you appear, And martyr-like towards you doth fly, To wear your Cheeks' fresh Livery. Aurora weeps to see a light outvie her splendour in your Eyes, The Sun's asham'd to walk the Skies; And th'Envious Moon, grown pale for spight, Vows ne'er to Revel but with Night. The saucy Wind with senseless care (seeming to feel soft sense of bliss) Steals through your hair, your lips to kiss, So Rivals me, who now despair To touch your Lip, Cheek, Eyes or Hair.
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Henry Lawes (c1595 - 1662), "The nightingale" [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 21
Word count: 132