O Death! thou art the cooling night
H. Willan
O Death! thou art the cooling night;
O Life! thou art the sultry day:
It darkens, and I slumber --
I am wearied with the light.
Over my head is a tree, to my seeming,
And in it a nightingale sings;
It singeth of nought but love --
I can hear it amidst my dreaming.