There be none of Beauty's daughters
Lord Byron
1788 to 1824
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There be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy voice to me:
When, as if its sound were
The charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose is gently heaving,
As an infant's asleep:
So the bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.