Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?
Keats, 624. Ode to a Nightingale
A stereo sound file of space dust hitting the Earth's ionosphere recorded on a forward scatter radio array.
All the dots and blips on the spectrogram are small meteoroids hitting the upper ionosphere. Then at 1313 UT a larger fireball sized meteor strikes producing a stronger and longer radio reflection.
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