Does the nightingale rhyme,
As-it-were, in tune,
With the turning of the world;
Season’s passage into plume,

Into bright fountain bust,
Thus in the touches of us one
Senses, a nightingale,
As one senses time,

Rotating round the life,
Grown, and growing still,
Falterless and without fail moving
On into light and then greater

Light; the higher the song
Climbs, making, marking
What is through the while,
The mightier the chime, the

Stronger the beguile, for
Ripening, is what we do,
Browning down into
Music that moves

And shines, blanketing the
Night, with solar fire,
Lifting all eyes to darkness,
To behold the towering mile;

We all hymn,
With nightingales; smelting
Roses, forging wings,
Urging all around us, to sing. To sail.

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