Sonnet Xl: Poem by George Henry Boker

XL

Beneath the stars and yonder waning moon,
Over the brooks that sparkle to the main,
Through the plumed phalanx of the yellow grain
Across the scented fields of teeming June;
On summer days, at morn, at eve, at noon,
And when the tangled streams of wintry rain
Slanted themselves athwart the roaring plain,
My patient heart has sung the self-same tune.
Like a poor bird, with but a single note,
Whose frequent songs, though same and tiresome, prove
His constant nature cannot change his throat
To suit our pleasure; so, a homely dove,
Whether I nestle close, or upward float,
I can but cry to thee, I love, I love!