The nightingale

This is the month the nightingale clod brown
Is heard among the woodland shady boughs
This is the time when in the vale grass-grown
The maiden hears at eve her lovers vows
What time the blue mist round the patient cows
Dim rises from the grass & half conceals
Their dappled hides I hear the nightingale
That from the little blackthorn spinney steals
To the old hazel hedge that skirts the vale
& still unseen sings sweet the ploughman feels
The thrilling music as he goes along
& imitates &  listens while the fields
Lose all their paths in dusk to lead him wrong
Still sings the nightingale her soft melodious song

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#poetry #environment