Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul, <br />Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright; <br />Thy beauty makes me like the child <br />That cries aloud to own thy light: <br />The little child that lifts each arm <br />To press thee to her bosom warm. <br /> <br />Though there are birds that sing this night <br />With thy white beams across their throats, <br />Let my deep silence speak for me <br />More than for them their sweetest notes: <br />Who worships thee till music fails, <br />Is greater than thy nightingales.<br /><br />William Henry Davies<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-moon-4/
