O strange sweet loveliness! O tender grace,
That in the light of passion’s day-spring threw
Soft splendour on a fair familiar face,
Changing it, yet unchanged, and old, yet new!
Perfect the portrait in my heart, and true,
Which traced the smile about that flower-like mouth,
And those gray eyes with just a doubt of blue,
Yet darkened with the passion of the South,
And the white arch of thoughtful forehead, crowned
With meeting waves of hair:—but still I found