She walks in the beauty, like the night,
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that best’s of dark and bright;
Meet in her aspects 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 lightnes o’er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.