That You Might Happier Be Than All The Rest, Than I Who Have Been Happy Loving You, Of All The Innocent Even The Happiest-- This I Beseeched For You. Until I Thought Of Those Unending Skies-- Of Stagnant Cloud, Or Fleckless Dull Blue Air, Of Days And Nights Delightless, No Surprise, No Threat, No Sting, No Fear; And Of The Stirless Waters Of The Mind, Waveless, Unfurrowed, Of No Living Hue, With Dead Eaves Dropping Slowly In No Wind, And Nothing Flowering New. And Then No More I Wished You Happiness, But That Whatever Fell Of Joy Or Woe I Would Not Dare, O Sweet, To Wish It Less, Or Wish You Less Than You.