The Sick Man And The Nightingale – Amy Levy 

So late, and yet a nightingale? 
Long since have dropp’d the blossoms pale, 

The summer fields are ripening, 

And yet a sound of spring? 
O tell me, didst thou come to hear, 

Sweet Spring, that I should die this year; 

And call’st across from the far shore 

To me one greeting more?

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