1
There be none of
Beauty's daughters
With a
magic like thee;
And like
music on the waters
Is
thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The
charmed ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lulled winds seem dreaming
2
And the
midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep;
Whose breast is
gently heaving,
As an
infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee,;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like
the swell of summer's ocean.
George Gordon, Lord Byron
1816