To The Nightingale, Which The Author Heard Sing On New Years Day.
By William Cowper
Whence is it that, amazed, I hear
From yonder witherd spray,
This foremost morn of all the year,
The melody of May?
And why, since thousands would be proud
Of such a favour shown,
Am I selected from the crowd
To witness it alone?
Singst thou, sweet Philomel, to me,
For that I also long
Have practised in the groves like thee,
Though not like thee in song?
Or singst thou, rather, under force
Of some divine command,
Commissiond to presage a course
Of happier days at hand?
Thrice welcome then! for many a long
And joyless year have I,
As thou to-day, put forth my song
Beneath a wintry sky.
But thee no wintry skies can harm,
Who only needst to sing
To make een January charm,
And every season spring.