The nightingale, gazing below from the height of a branch, believes that it has fallen into the river. It is in the top of an oak, and all the while it fears that it will drown.
--Cyrano de Bergerac.
The tree-reflections in the misty river die
Like a vapor on the sky,
While in the very boughs, 'neath the true firmament,
The turtle-doves lament.
How oft, O traveler, on this landscape wan and dim
Would thine own wan image swim,
And, all among the lofty leaves, how mournfully
Wept the drowned hopes of thee.