My Lady Nightingale.
I heard you singing in the grove, My Lady Nightingale; The thirsty leaves were drinking dew, And all the sky was pale. A silence - clear as bells of peace Your song thrilled on the air, Each liquid note a thing of joy, And sweet beyond compare. Not all of joy - a haunting strain Of sorrow and of tears, A note of grief which seemed to voice The sadness of the years. 'Twas pure, 'twas clear, 'twas wondrous sweet, My Lady Nightingale, Yet subtly sad, the song you sang When all the sky was pale.
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"I heard you singing in the grove,..."
"My Lady Nightingale." is a quintessential example of Jean Blewett's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...