She walks in beauty, like the night of clodless 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 sweetly express how pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And in that cheek and o’er rhat brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow but tell of the days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent.

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  • by george gorden byron

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