Sing to me, sing, and sing again,
   My glad, great-throated nightingale:
Sing, as the good sun through the rain --
   Sing, as the home-wind in the sail!

Sing to me life, and toil, and time,
   O bugle of dawn, O flute of rest!
Sing, and once more, as in the prime,
   There shall be naught but seems the best.

And sing me at the last of love:
   Sing that old magic of the May,
That makes the great world laugh and move
   As lightly as our dream to-day!