From Romeo and Juliet Act 3 scene 5
J:"Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."

R:"It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die."

Morning Love

Lover, stay longer.
Juliette's nightingale sings,
ignore Romeo's lark.
There are sides of our pillows
unused, let's not be wasteful.

Night’s sweetest portion
pursued by twilight’s cousin
improves our embrace
with her chilled breath, fanning
coals into flames, seeking fresh fuel.

Rake back the ashes
of sleep, rekindle our fire
with the vigor gained
by our short rest, which hones
the razor and softens hair.

Let the sun find us
entwined lovers, believing
us unseparated
during his absence, his orange
face greened, jealous of our heat.