Xxxv

Sing to me, sing, and sing again, My glad, great-throated nightingale: Sing, as the good sun through the rain-- Sing, as the home-wind in the sail!

Sing to me life, and toil, and time, O bugle of dawn, O flute of rest! Sing, and once more, as in the prime, There shall be naught but seems the best.

And sing me at the last of love: Sing that old magic of the May, That makes the great world laugh and move As lightly as our dream to-day!