A mouth red-ripened like a warm, sweet rose,
Wherein are gleaming pearls all pure and bright
As dewdrops nestled where the zephyr blows
With pinion soft across the humid night;
A cheek not ruddy, but soft-tinged and fair,
Where whiles the rich patrician blood is seen,
As though it knew itself a thing too rare
For common gaze, yet did its high demean;
A brow serene and pure as her white soul,
By which the sifted snow would blackened seem
That sleeps untrodden where the Northern pole
Rests calm, unscanned save by the Moon's chaste beam;
Eyes gray as Summer twilight skies are gray,
And deep with light as deep, still waters are,—
Tender as evening's smile when kissing day,
Yet bright and true as is her lustrous star.
These all unite and with accordant grace
Make heaven mirrored ever in her face.