The Nightingale

                                [Poem]
                             The Nightingale

There lived a Chinese Emperor
(Oh, very long ago !)
In a palace built of porcelain
As white as driven snow;
And on its walls were painted,
In colours bright and gay,
Rare birds that never sang a song
And never flew away !

But past the royal gardens,
In a forest by the sea,
There dwelt a little Nightingle,
Which sang delightfully.
'What is this bird?' the Emperor cried,
'That causes such a fuss?
Command it to appear at court
And sing its song to us !'

And when the little Nightingale 
Sang from a golden perch,
The courtiers listened silently,
As if they were in church;
And dowm their master's royal cheek
They watched a tear-drop fall;
And knew he wept for pure delight,
And not for grief at all. 

The bird was made 'Court Chorister'
But might go home each day,
(Although they held it by a string,
Lest it should fly away).
One day the emperor received 
A present from a King-
A clockwork bird. They wound it up.
And it would really sing.

Its outspread wings were made of gold,
Spangeled with rubies red,
It wore a crown of diamonds
Upon its tiny head.
They wound it up, and wound it up
And listened night and day;
So the little living Nightingale.
Unnoticed, flew away.

And then one day the clockwork bird,
In the middle of a song,

Stopped all at once, and went Whir-r-r!
Its clockwork had gone wrong!
And nobody could mend the thing,
However much they tried;
So in a cupboard, on a shelf,
The bird was laid aside.

Years passed; the Emperor fell ill,
And, as he tossed in pain,
Sighed, 'If my Nightingale would sing,
I should get well again.'
But all the doctors stood around
Shaking their heads in sorrow,
For they believed the Emperor 
Would surely die tomorrow.

When it was whispered far and wide,
'The Emperor's very ill.'
The Nightingale heard too, and cried,
'I bear him no ill-will;
I'll go and sing my sweetest song
Upon his window-sill.'

And when the courtiers crept back
In fear, as day was dawning,
The emperor sat up in bed,
And wished them all 'Good Morning'.
                                       -Charlotte Druitt Cole
                             [About Poem]
Music has magical effect on all living beings. In this poem notice how the music of the nightingale works a miracle and saves a dying emperor.