There be none of Beauty's
With a magic like Thee;
And like music on the
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were
The charméd ocean's pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is
Her bright chain o'er the deep,
Whose breast is gently
As an infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
