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 lulled¹ winds seem dreaming：

    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 swell² of Summer's ocean.

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