In came the moon and covered me with wonder, Touched me and was near me and made me very still. In came a rush of song, like rain after thunder, Pouring importunate on my window-sill.
I lowered my head, I hid it, I would not see nor hear, The birdsong had stricken me, had brought the moon too near. But when I dared to lift my head, night began to fill With singing in the darkness. And then the thrush grew still. And the moon came in, and silence, on my window-sill.