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 min at peace
with all below,
A heart whose love
is innocent!
George Gordon, Lord Byron