Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 1, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/149

97 That crowds, and hurries, and precipitates

With fast thick warble his delicious notes,

As he were fearful, that an April night

Would be too short for him to utter forth

His love-chant, and disburthen his full soul

Of all its music! And I know a grove

Of large extent, hard by a castle huge

Which the great lord inhabits not: and so

This grove is wild with tangling underwood,

And the trim walks are broken up, and grass,

Thin grass and king-cups grow within the paths.

But never elsewhere in one place I knew

So many Nightingales: and far and near

In wood and thicket over the wide grove

They answer and provoke each other's songs—

With skirmish and capricious passagings,

And murmurs musical and swift jug jug

And one low piping sound more sweet than all—

Stirring the air with such an harmony,