My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense,as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk.
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness -
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

John Keats Ode to a Nightingale

"Not the voices of animals but their entrails are important to us, and the animal to which music is most indebted is not the nightingale but the sheep" Eduard Hanslick On the Musically Beautiful