Raptures

Sing for the sun your lyric, lark, Of twice ten thousand notes; Sing for the moon, you nightingales, Whose light shall kiss your throats; Sing, sparrows, for the soft warm rain, To wet your feathers through; And when a rainbow's in the sky, Sing you, cuckoo—Cuckoo! Sing for your five blue eggs, fond thrush, By many a leaf concealed; You starlings, wrens, and blackbirds, sing In every wood and field: While I, who fail to give my love Long raptures twice as fine, Will for her beauty breathe this one— A sigh, that's more divine.