Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/41

Rh Not music when it wings

From the far azure where the skylark sings

Is wonderful as love!—

Not music when it wells

From the enchanted fairy-haunted dells

Where, shrined mid thorn and vine—

An ecstasy apart,

Drawn from the life-blood of a breaking heart—

The nightingale pours forth forever

The rapture and the pain that naught can sever,

Of love which mortal is, yet knows itself divine!