O bird beneath the midnight sky!
As on my lonely couch I lie,
I hear thee singing in the dark—
Why sing not I?
No star-gleams meet thy wakeful eye;
No fond mate answers to thy cry;
No other voice, through all the dark,
Makes sweet reply.
Yet never skylark soaring high
Where sunlit clouds rejoicing lie,
Sang as thou singest in the dark,
Not mute as I!
O lone, sweet spirit! tell me why
So far thy ringing love-notes fly,
While other birds, hushed by the dark,
Are mute as I?
No prophecy of morn is nigh;
Yet as the sombre hours glide by,
Bravely thou singest in the dark—
Why sing not I?