The Baby Sings Not On Its Mother'S Breast; Nor Nightingales Who Nestle Side By Side; Nor I By Thine: But Let Us Only Part, Then Lips Which Should But Kiss, And So Be Still, As Having Uttered All, Must Speak Again - O Stunted Thoughts! O Chill And Fettered Rhyme Yet My Great Bliss, Though Still Entirely Blest, Losing Its Proper Home, Can Find No Rest: So, Like A Child Who Whiles Away The Time With Dance And Carol Till The Eventide, Watching Its Mother Homeward Through The Glen; Or Nightingale, Who, Sitting Far Apart, Tells To His Listening Mate Within The Nest The Wonder Of His Star-Entranced Heart Till All The Wakened Woodlands Laugh And Thrill - Forth All My Being Bubbles Into Song; And Rings Aloft, Not Smooth, Yet Clear And Strong. Bertrich, 1851