She walks in beauty
like the night
of cloudless climes and
starry skies;
And all that's best of
dark and bright
meets 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 tells in days of goodness spent,
a mind at peace with all below,
a heart whose love is
innocent.
George Gordon Byron, Lord
Byron (1788 - 1824)
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