Tender is the night

Already with thee! tender is the night,
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Trough verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

Ode to a nightingale

The sleeping ghost, that travels at this hour,
when morning comes and the golden sphere
shines through this sorry and sour land
waving tears, with snooring like a queer
monster, shattering glasses, bashing the trees,
he sits where a sad nightingale moans,
blinded by the sunlight, blazed like the coal,
both start admiring and plotting
how could they kill the sun?

The nightingale said the sun could not be killed

"Who will rule when there shall be no life?"

"Ah my friend, tender is the night,

where there is no light

Now we can admire the dark beauty of life

While the day is no longer bright..."