Still wears that quiet and peculiar light
Like the dim circlet floating 'round a pearl.
And yet her calm sweet countenance,
Though saintly, was not sad; for she would sing
Alone … bird-like,
Not dreaming you were near.—Her carols dropt
In flakes through that old leafy bower.
Paracelsus.
… Such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so red,—