![]() Look, my love, what are those streaks of light in the clouds parting in the east? Night is over, and day is coming. It was the lark, the bird that sings at dawn, not the nightingale. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. Look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. ROMEO It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale. ![]() The lark sings in the morning, the nightingale sings at night. Believe me, my love, it was the nightingale. Every night the nightingale chirps on that pomegranate-tree. That sound you heard was the nightingale, not the lark. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.Īre you going? It’s still a long time until daybreak. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. JULIET Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply.AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |