To a Nightingale on its Return

And art thou here again, sweet nightingale,
To reproduce my happy summer mood,
When, as last year, among these shades I stood,
Or from the lattice heard thy thrilling tale?
This May-tide is but cold; yet, none the less,
I trust thy tuneful energy to sing
Through the thin leafage of this laggard spring,
With all thy blended joy and plaintiveness.
How often have my lonely steps been led,
By thy sweet voice, on to thy magic tree!
How often has thy wakeful spirit fed
My thoughts with love, and hope, and mystery!
How often hast thou made my weary head
A music chamber for my soul and thee!