A Crown Of Nightingale-Song

Give me not a laurel crown,
If I be a poet;
Give me a crown of nightingale-song,
So that I may know it.
For laurel leaves fade and die
When far from Daphne's tree;
But a crown of nightingale-song
Will forever be.

In the soft and plaintive tunes
Circling round my head,
Little of terror can I find,
And even less of dread.
A crown of nightingale-song
Rests lightly upon the hair,
Like the touch of a hand in fever
That says a mother is there.

A crown of nightingale-song
Will give me the moon,
From whom I draw my inspiration,
From whom comes my tune.
A crown of nightingale-song
Will bring the moon to me,
And compose a song of leaves and even,
And moonlight in a tree.

Let me but have and know
The music sweet and strong,
And I'll draw all the sustenance I need
From the circling song.
Indeed, I'll shed my need of food,
And will, like flower rare,
Live upon the nightingale-song
As the flower does upon air.

Softness, stillness, gentle lights,
Around me glide and hold!
Crown me with this song of silver,
And I'll not wish for gold.
I will make my listeners weep,
My readers dream and long;
And all these things I will do
With a crown of nightingale-song.