Poem by William Ernest Henley

Echoes. 18. The Nightingale Has a Lyre of Gold

The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
   The lark’s is a clarion-call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
   But I love him best of all.

For his song is all of the joy of life,
   And we in the mad, spring weather,
We two have listened till he sang
   Our hearts and lips together.

1. In Hospital. 12. Etching
2. Rhymes and Rhythms. 21. When the Wind Storms by with a Shout, and the Stern Sea-Caves
3. In Hospital. 14. Ave, Caeser!
4. Echoes. 22. The West a Glimmering Lake of Light
5. London Voluntaries. 5. Allegro Maëstoso

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