|
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 mellow’d to that tender
light
|
|
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
|
|
|
|
|
One shade the more, one ray
the less,
|
|
Had half impaire’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’re 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.
|
|
|
|
|
[from Hebrew Melodies]
|
|
Lord Byron 1788-1824
|
