Le Rossignol

Like to a swarm of birds, with jarring cries Descend on me my swarming memories; Light mid the yellow leaves, that shake and sigh, Of the bowed alder--that is even I!-- Brooding its shadow in the violet Unprofitable river of Regret. They settle screaming--Then the evil sound, By the moist wind's impatient hushing drowned, Dies by degrees, till nothing more is heard Save the lone singing of a single bird, Save the clear voice--O singer, sweetly done!-- Warbling the praises of the Absent One.... And in the silence of a summer night Sultry and splendid, by a late moon's light That sad and sallow peers above the hill, The humid hushing wind that ranges still Rocks to a whispered sleepsong languidly The bird lamenting and the shivering tree.