Edensong

I am the nearest nightingale

That singeth in Eden after you;

And I am singing loud and true,

And sweet, --I do not fail.

I sit upon a cypress bough,

Close to the gate, and I fling my song

Over the gate and through the mail

Of the warden angels marshall'd strong, --

Over the gate and after you!

And the warden angels let it pass,

Because the poor brown bird, alas,

Sings in the garden, sweet and true.

And I build my song of high pure notes,

Note over note, height over height,

Till I strike the arch of the Infinite,

And I bridge abysmal agonies

With strong, clear calms of harmonies, --

And something abides, and something floats,

In the song which I sing after you.

Fare ye well, farewell!

The creature-sounds, no longer audible,

Expire at Eden's door.

Each footstep of your treading

Treads out some cadence which ye heard before

Farewell! the birds of Eden

Ye shall hear nevermore!