A nightingale wakes me. Think of this!

A nightingale wakes me. Think of this!
While she sings so loud,
A woman is lying in her shroud
To whom a lover has never vowed:
O wrong in the world, and by God allowed!

Ah me, a girl to be dead, and miss
That high-and-away, that clang of pain,
The way Love trebles his sweets again,
And then feels it vain,
Jarjarral and keeps to the mocking strain!