To A. D.

William Ernest Henley

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.

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• William Ernest Henley : To A. C.
• William Ernest Henley : There's A Regret
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• William Ernest Henley : The West A Glimmering Lake Of Light
• William Ernest Henley : The Ways Are Green With The Gladdening Sheen
• William Ernest Henley : The Wan Sun Westers, Faint And Slow
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