The Birds of Shakespeare 
And Keats found his heart attuned by the 
voice of the Nightingale to the contempla- 
tion of his own dissolution : 
Darkling I listen ; and for many a time 
I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
Call’d him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 
To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
Now more than ever seems it rich to die, 
To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
In such an ecstasy ! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— 
To thy high requiem become a sod. 
What the future course of English 
Poetry will be in this same domain 
cannot be confidently predicted. Already, 
after the lapse of another century since 
the three poems appeared which we have 
been considering, a certain change in the 
poetic mood with regard to living Nature | 
can be more or less distinctly perceived. 
With such a splendid past to contemplate, 
we may be well assured that our Poetry 
will continue to be radiant with sympathy 
for all living things. The birds will not 
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