The mind, the music breathing from her face,
The heart whose softness harmonized the whole—
And, oh! that eye was in itself a soul!
The Bride of Abydos, Canto 1.
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto 1.
She was a form of life and light,
That, seen, became a part of sight;
And rose wher'er I turned mine eye,