Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (Энн Финч, графиня Уинчилси)

To the Nightingale

Exert thy voice, sweet harbinger of spring!
    This moment is thy time to sing,
    This moment I attend to praise,
And set my numbers to they lays.
    Free as thine shall be my song;
    As they music, short, or long.
Poets, wild as thee, were born,
    Pleasing best when unconfined,
    When to please is least designed,
Soothing but their cares to rest;
    Cares do still their thoughts molest,
    And still th' unhappy poet's breast,
Like thine, when best he sings, is placed against a thorn.
She begins, Let all be still!
    Muse, they promise now fulfill!
Sweet, oh! sweet, still sweeter yet
Can thy words such accents fit,
Canst thou syllables refine,
Melt a sense that shall retain
Still some spirit of the brain,
Till with sounds like these it join.
    'Twill not be! then change thy note;
    Let division shake thy throat.
Hark! Division now she tries;
Yet as far the Muse outflies.
    Cease then, prithee, cease thy tune;
    Trifler, wilt thou sing till *June*?
Till thy business all lies waste,
And the time of building's past!
    Thus we poets that have speech,
Unlike what they forests teach,
    If a fluent vein be shown
    That's transcendant to our own,
Criticize, reform, or preach,
Or censure what we cannot reach.

Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea’s other poems:

  1. The Tree
  2. Adam Posed
  3. A Letter to Daphnis
  4. The Introduction
  5. On Myself

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

  • John Milton (Джон Мильтон) To the Nightingale (“O Nightingale! that on yon bloomy spray”)
  • Samuel Coleridge (Сэмюэл Кольридж) To the Nightingale (“Sister of love-lorn Poets, Philomel!”)
  • James Thomson (Джеймс Томсон) To the Nightingale (“O nightingale, best poet of the grove”)
  • Anne Hunter (Энн Хантер) To the Nightingale (“WHY from these shades, sweet bird of eve”)

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