Chapter 71
O nightingale, has that pale star Heard you sobbing your passion into a song? Has she deigned to stoop from her throne of splendour, Deigned to pity your life's surrender, Deigned to throw you a bean-smile tender, You who have waited and loved so long? O nightingale, is your wondrous music Cleaving the depths of the dark apart,
Born of a hope that is wearily dying? Is she ever and I denying that For which you are always sighing? Do you sing with a broken heart?
