English poem
To The Nightingale, Which The Author Heard Sing On New Year's Day.
Whence is it that, amazed, I hear From yonder wither'd spray, This foremost morn of all the year, The melody of May? And why, since thousands would be proud Of such a favour shown, Am I selected from the crowd To witness it alone? Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, For that I also long Have practised in the groves like thee, Though not like thee in song? Or sing'st thou, rather, under force Of some divine command, Commission'd to presage a course Of happier days at hand! Thrice welcome then! for many a long And joyless year have I, As thou to-day, put forth my song Beneath a wintry sky. But thee no wintry skies can harm, Who only need'st to sing To make e'en January charm, And every season spring.
More by William Cowper
- To My Cousin, Anne Bodham, On Receiving From Her A Network Purse Made By Herself.
- To My Father.
- To Sir Joshua Reynolds.
- To The Immortal Memory Of The Halibut, On Which I Dined This Day, Monday, April 26, 1784.
- To The Rev. John Newton.[256]
- To The Rev. Mr. Newton, On His Return From Ramsgate.
- To The Rev. W. Cawthorne Unwin.
- To The Rev. William Bull.