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.