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O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray

O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray
     Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still,
    Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill,
     While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
     First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill
     Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
     Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate
     Foretell my hopeless doom in some Grove ny:
     As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late
For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,
     Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
     Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

This work was published before January 1, 1924, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.