When first we hear the shy-come nightingales
They seem to mutter o'er their songs in fear
And, climb we e'er so soft the spinney rails
All stops as if no bird was anywhere
The kindled bushes with the young leaves thin
Let curious eyes to search a long way in
Until impatience cannot see or hear
The hidden music gets but little way
Upon the path - when up the songs begin
Full loud a moment and then low again
But when a day or two confirms her stay
Boldly she sings and loudly half the day
And soon the village brings the woodman's tale
Of having heard the new-come nightingale