So beautiful, so tender; and her form
Was graceful as a rainbow in a storm:
Scattering gladness on the face of sorrow—
Oh! I had fancied of the hues that borrow
Their brightness from the sun; but she was bright
In her own self—a mystery of light!
With feelings tender as a star’s own hue,
Pure as the morning star! as true, as true:
For it will glitter in each early sky,
And her first love be love that lasteth aye!