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ㅤ
￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣
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 on her face.
𝐖here thought serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
𝐀nd on that cheek, and on 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 below, A heart whose love is innocent.
—𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐲𝐫𝐨𝐧
ㅤ
￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣
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 on her face.
𝐖here thought serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
𝐀nd on that cheek, and on 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 below, A heart whose love is innocent.
—𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐁𝐲𝐫𝐨𝐧