There is a sweet expression in thy face,
My gentle one! leading the thoughts away
From earthliness, and this vile orb of clay,—
Bidding my spirit in its yearnings trace
Something immortal in the beauties there!
I do not worship loveliness—but look
On woman’s face, as on a speaking book,
Where God hath stamped his image clear and fair!
And thine is one so radiant of him,
So calm and pure, one cannot fail to see