The rain had fallen, the poet arose,
He passed by the town & out of the street,
A light wind blew from the gates of the Sun,
And waves of shadow went over the Wheat,
And he sat him down in a lonely place,
Chanted a melody loud & sweet,
That made the wild swan pause in her cloud,
And the Lark drop down at his feet,
The Swallow stop as he hunted the fly,
The snake slip under a spray,
The wild Hawk stood with the Swan on his beak,
And stared with his foot on the prey,
Whilst the Nightingale thought –
“I have sung many songs,
But never one so gay,
For he sings of what the world would be,
When the years have died away.”
— Tennyson
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