There's a beauty for ever unchangingly bright,
Like the long, sunny lapse of a summer-day's light,
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender
Till Love falls asleep in its sameness of splendor.
This _was_ not the beauty--oh, nothing like this
That to young NOURMAHAL gave such magic of bliss!
But that loveliness ever in motion which plays
Like the light upon autumn's soft shadowy days,
Now here and now there, giving warmth as it flies
From the lip to the cheek, from the cheek to the eyes;
Now melting in mist and now breaking in gleams,
Like the glimpses a saint hath of Heaven in his dreams.
When pensive it seemed as if that very grace,
That charm of all others, was born with her face!
And when angry,--for even in the tranquillest climes
Light breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes--
The short, passing anger but seemed to awaken
New beauty like flowers that are sweetest when shaken.
If tenderness touched her, the dark of her eye
At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,
From the depth of whose shadow like holy revealings
From innermost shrines came the light of her feelings.
Then her mirth--oh! 'twas sportive as ever took wing
From the heart with a burst like the wild-bird in spring;
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages,
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages.
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