Edward Dowden - The Singer lyrics

"That was the thrush's last good-night," I thought, And heard the soft descent of summer rain In the drooped garden leaves; but hush! again The perfect iterence,--freer than unsought Odours of violets dim in woodland ways, Deeper than coiled waters laid a-dream Below mossed ledges of a shadowy stream, And faultless as blown roses in June days. Full-throated singer! art thou thus anew Voiceful to hear how round thyself alone The enriched silence drops for thy delight More soft than snow, more sweet than honey-dew? Now cease: the last faint western streak is gone, Stir not the blissful quiet of the night.