quote · Legacy record
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say His homely tale, this very day; His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come at by the breeze: He did not cease; but cooed—and cooed: And somewhat pensively he wooed: He sang of love, with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee; That was the song,—the song for me!
I heard a Stock-dove sing or say His homely tale, this very day; His voice was buried among trees, Yet to be come at by the breeze: He did not cease; but cooed—and cooed: And somewhat pensively he wooed: He sang of love, with quiet blending, Slow to begin, and never ending; Of serious faith, and inward glee; That was the song,—the song for me!
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- Author or tradition
- Wordsworth (identity unresolved)
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No sufficiently supported historical placement has been established. Import and download dates are not treated as composition dates. - Recorded source
- Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations (1922) (1922 AD)
Printed page 201 · quotation 17 · Wordsworth · O Nightingale! Thou Surely Art.
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