When yon full moon's with her white fleet of stars,
  And but one bird makes music in the grove;
When you and I are breathing side by side,
  Where our two bodies make one shadow, love;

Not for her beauty will I praise the moon,
  But that she lights thy purer face and throat;
The only praise I'll give the nightingale
  Is that she draws from thee a richer note.

For, blinded with thy beauty, I am filled,
  Like Saul of Tarsus, with a greater light;
When he had heard that warning voice in Heaven,
  And lost his eyes to find a deeper sight.

Come, let us sit in that deep silence then,
  Launched on love's rapids, with our passions proud,
That makes all music hollow - though the lark
  Raves in his windy heights above a cloud.