She walks in beauty, like the nightOf cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
3 comments:
It's a lovely poem, and (personally) never fails to suggest Wordsworth's as-marvellous piece, that begins:
She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament...
Yes very lovely - thanks for this, I may add the piece by Wordsworth in a later post.
Would we know what love is, if not for Byron? He has opened our hearts for time eternal.
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