Impromptu to Mrs. Allsop on Her Exquisite Singing

A MONTH in summer we rejoice
To hear the nightingale’s sweet song,
But thou, a more enchanting voice,
Shalt dwell with us the live year long.
Angel of Song! still with us stay!
Nor, when succeeding years have shone,
Let us thy mansion pass and say —
‘The voice of melody is gone!’
ODE