Thy beauty haunts me heart and soul, Oh, thou fair Moon, so close and bright; Thy beauty makes me like the child That cries aloud to own thy light: The little child that lifts each arm To press thee to her bosom warm. Though there are birds that sing this night With thy white beams across their throats, Let my deep silence speak for me More than for them their sweetest notes: Who worships thee till music fails, Is greater than thy nightingales. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FORGIVENESS by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE SWAMP ANGEL by HERMAN MELVILLE THE GIRL OF ALL PERIODS; AN IDYLL by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE INSOMNIA by EDITH MATILDA THOMAS YOU MAY REMEMBER by LULU PIPER AIKEN GOOD LUCK by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |