Classic Poem

Every night from eve till morn,
Love's chorister amid the thorn
Is now so sweet a singer;
So sweet, as for her song I scorn
A pollo's voice and finger.

But nightingale, since you delight
Ever to watch the starry night,
Tell all the stars of heaven,
Heaven never had a star so bright,
As now to earth is given.

Royal Astraea makes our day
Eternal with her beams, nor may
Gross darkness overcome her.
I now perceive why some do write,
No country hath so short a night,
As England hath in summer.