The rose and the nightingale

The rose is weeping for her love,

The nightingale;

And he is flying fast above,

To her he will not fail.

Already golden eve appears,

He wings his way along;

Ah! look, he comes to kiss her tears,

And soothe her with his song.

The moon in pearly light may steep

The still blue air;

The rose hath ceased to droop and weep,

For lo! her love is there.

He sings to her, and o'er the trees

She hears his sweet notes swim;

The world may weary; she but sees

Her love, and hears but him.