Like veins of gold that sparkle in the mine,
Their glittering radiance dazzles the beholder;
And yet to me thy brilliant eyes seem colder
Than Arctic ice or snows. Far more benign
And beauteous are the windows of her soul
Whom I have loved—the long desired goal
Of my most cherished hopes. The paly moon
Sheds not a softer light on copse and stream
Than on my heart her lucid orbs. The moon
Of Summer is not warmer than her blue eye’s beam.