Trilled forth the Nightingale
In sweetest sleep of day--
Unto his love, the rose,
Ah golden heart, unclose!
For love, my fairest rose, will last for aye.
So, thro' the waning night
She learned to wear her crown;
Yielded her heart's sweet strife
And found that love was life
Set to the time the dear bird lilted down.
But when the morning came
The red sun burned above;
Hid are the night birds all,
Flower petals fade and fall;
The rose is dead--and what became of love!