The Poet And The Bird

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---

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