The Wounded Nightingale

Altho' thou lovest much to sit alone
Why stay est thou when all the rest are gone ?
Thus spoke I to a nightingale ; then she
Stepping a little farther on the tree.
" One night a cruel archer heard me sing,
" And came at early morn and broke my wing.
" The leaves were denser then ; he could not find
" The prey he sought, and left me thus behind."
She fluttered, but alas ! no more she flew.
And softly I, with backward step, withdrew.