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.
- Lord Byron