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.
Lord Byron
(1788-1824)