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 lull'd 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 swell¹ of summer's ocean.

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