Poet And The Bird, The

Poet And The Bird, The

Said a people to a poet---" Go out from among us straightway!

While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine.

Theres a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways

Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!"

The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased chanting;

"Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?"

I cannot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting,

Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun."

The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---

The bird flew to his grave and died, amid a thousand wails:---

And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there

Was only of the poets song, and not the nightingales.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning