| She walks in beauty, like the
night |
| Of cloudless climes
and starry skies; |
| And all that's best of dark and
bright |
| Meet in her aspect
and her eyes: |
| Thus mellowed to that tender
light |
Which heaven
to gaudy day denies. |
| One shade the more, one ray the
less, |
| Had half
impaired 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. |
clipped from: mural.uv.es 
