When first you look upon her face
You little note beside
The timidness, that still betrays
The beauties it would hide:
But, one by one, they look out from
Her blushes and her eyes;
And still the last, the loveliest --
Like stars from twilight skies.

And thoughts go sporting through her mind,
Like children among flowers;
And deeds of gentle goodness are
The measure of her hours.
In soul or face, she bears no trace
Of one from Eden driven;
But, like the rainbow, seems, though born
Of earth, a part of Heaven.