Nanine

We heard a song-bird trilling⁠—
  ’Twas but a day ago.
Such rapture he was rilling
  As only we could know.

This morning he is flinging
  His music from the tree,
But something in the singing
  Is not the same to me.

His inspiration fails him,
  Or he has lost his skill.
Nanine, Nanine, what ails him
  That he should sing so ill?

Nanine is not replying⁠—
  She hears no earthly song.
The sun and bird are lying
  And the night is, O, so long!