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She walks in beauty, like the night |
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Of cloudless climes and starry skies; |
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And all that's best of dark and bright |
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Meet in her aspect and her eyes: |
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Thus mellow'd to that tender light |
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Which heaven to gaudy day denies. |
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One shade the more, one ray the less, |
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Had half impaired the nameless grace |
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Which waves in every raven tress, |
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Or softly lightens o'er her face; |
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Where thoughts serenely sweet express |
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How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. |
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And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, |
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So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, |
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The smiles that win, the tints that glow, |
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But tell of days in goodness spent, |
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A mind at peace with all below, |
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A heart whose love is innocent! |
