Читать книгу The Oxford Book of English Verse - Various Authors - Страница 89

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?

O ’tis the ravish’d nightingale.

Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu! she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick-song! Who is’t now we hear? None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven’s gate she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat Poor robin redbreast tunes his note! Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring! Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!