Below is Wilde's poem in its entirety:
TO outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.
Save for a cry that echoes shrill 5
From some lone bird disconsolate;
A corncrake calling to its mate;
The answer from the misty hill.
And suddenly the moon withdraws
Her sickle from the lightening skies, 10
And to her sombre cavern flies,
Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.
And here's another choir performing the same arrangement we're doing: