Never the Nightingale

Never the nightingale shall haunt this marsh Where the gray herons and the white, Feathered with moonlight, ride the secret reaches Of the night. Never the heartbreak of the nightingale Shall halt this salty wind— Only the herons crying, always crying Brief music pale and thinned, Shall fly, triumphant, over the making tidals White and clear When the slow darkness nibbles at the grasses Like a young deer.

My heart is long attuned to this wild crying, The loneliness that stretches like a wave Where the gray oaks count out the centuries. I am not brave Enough to bear a greater burden of beauty Than these salt marshes bring; For other men, if there be lovelier lands, Let nightingales sing.