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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!

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             See: The Perfect Beau -

                          By Josie Whitehead 

                                   

                          (A shadow poem)

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