"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 hill'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
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of summer's ocean."