Nightingale
There's a nightingale or two in the woods.
They're small birds, sparrow-sized, and about as flashy: drab brown is the best way to describe them.
I expect they get their voice from another dimension, because how else can a bird that size be that loud?
There's lots in the woods nearby, and having two of them singing at each other is nice -- for about 10 minutes. Then it gets tedious.
So imagine, if you will, a night in early summer, when it's so hot that you have to open your windows. Imagine also a bird which never ever repeats itself, shouting its little head off in the woods nearby. Now look at the clock: 1 am. 2 am. 3 am. 4 am ... as the song of the nightingale is ever variable you can't get used to it, and it's impossible to go to sleep on the noise.
Frankly, I fail to see the appeal of nightingales.
He sure knew how to put
He sure knew how to put things into words. That nicely describes the feeling you get if you try to get some sleep while a nightingale sings.