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George Meredith - The Three Maidens
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There were three maidens met on the highway; 
The sun was down, the night was late: 
And two sang loud with the birds of May, 
O the nightingale is merry with its mate. 

Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there so still? 
The land is dark, the night is late: 
O, but the heart in my side is ill, 
And the nightingale will languish for its mate. 

Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is store; 
The moon mounts up, the night is late: 
O, I shall look on man no more, 
And the nightingale is dumb without its mate. 

Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms and sing; 
The moon mounts high, the night is late: 
O my dear lover can hear no thing, 
And the nightingale sings only to its mate. 

They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was his lure; 
The moon is pale, the night is late: 
His grave is shallow on the moor; 
O the nightingale is dying for its mate. 

His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots at his hair; 
The moon is chill, the night is late: 
But I will lie beside him there: 
O the nightingale is dying for its mate.
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