Monday, April 25, 2005

Bird singing after midnight

I thought it was a nightingale, but why should I be disappointed if all that forlorn threnody was only a robin, afraid the night might never end.

1 comment:

  1. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been

    Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,

    Tasting of Flora and the country green,

    Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!

    O for a beaker full of the warm South,

    Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene

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