WITH what a grace she passed us by just now!
Her delicate chin half raised, her cordial brow
A cloudless heaven of bland benignities!
What tempered lustre too in her dove’s eyes,
Just touched to archness by the eyebrow’s curve,
And those quick dimples which the mouth’s reserve
Stir and break up, as sunlit ripples break
The cool, clear calmness of a mountain lake!
A woman in whom majesty and sweetness
Blend to such issues of serene completeness,
That to gaze on her were a prince’s boon!
The calm of evening, the large pomp of noon,
Are hers; soft May morns melting into June,
Hold not such tender languishments as those
Which steep her in that dew-light of repose,
That floats a dreamy balm around the full-blown rose:–
And yet, ’tis not her beauty, though so bright
(Clear moon-fire mixed with sun-flame), nor the light,
Transparent charm we feel so exquisite,
Whereby she’s compassed as a wizard star
By its own life-air! ’tis not one, nor all
Of these, whereby we’re mastered, Sir, and fall
Slavelike before her: doubtless such things are
Potent as spells,–still there’s a something fine,
Subtler than hoar-rime in the faint moonshine,
More potent yet–an undefin
(Paul Hamilton Hayne)
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Based on Topics: Light Poems, Beauty Poems, Woman PoemsBased on Keywords: undefin, archness, languishments, benignities, moon-fire, dew-light, life-air