Bird beneath the midnight sky
As on my lonely couch I lie,
I hear thee singing in the dark,
Why sing not I?

No star-gleams meet thy wakeful eye;
No fond mate answers to thy cry;
No other voice, through all the dark,
Makes sweet reply.

Yet never sky-lark soaring high
Where sun-lit clouds rejoicing lie,
Sang as thou singest in the dark,
Not mute as I!

O lone, sweet spirit! tell me ...

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