Thomas Moore (1779–1852)

          I’VE a secret to tell thee, but hush! not here —

                Oh! not where the world its vigil keeps:

          I’ll seek, to whisper it in thine ear,

                Some shore where the Spirit of Silence sleeps;

          Where Summer’s wave unmurmuring dies,

                Nor fay can hear the fountain’s gush;

          Where, if but a note her night-bird sighs,

                The rose saith, chidingly, "Hush, sweet, hush!"

          There, amid the deep silence of that hour,

                When stars can be heard in ocean dip,

          Thyself shall, under some rosy bower,

                Sit mute, with thy finger on thy lip:

          Like him, the boy, who born among

                The flowers that on the Nile-stream blush,

          Sits ever thus — his only song

                To earth and heaven, "Hush, all, hush!"