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A brow whereon the calm of thought
Like sunlight over snow is wrought,
The blest result of cheerful moods,
Won from the quiet solitudes
Of thy still spirit, flowing not
From outward things,
And independent of the lot
Which fortune brings,
A beauty and a nameless grace
Which captivates but not beguiles,
And in thy heart and o'er thy face,
A bliss too deep for smiles;
Such charms can hardly appertain
To grief mortality and pain,
And these are of the earth,
But only visitant below,
And come to cure or banish woe,
Thou art of Heavenly birth.
So at least my fancy deems,
So thou appearest in my dreams,
But a love-light in thine eyes,
Shining oftentimes thro' tears,
Like a silver-veil'd sunrise,
Or a dew-dimm'd flower appears,
But thy rarely breathêd sighs,
And still more the low replies
Whisper'd yesternight to me
When I lowly question'd thee,
Prove thee beauteous Isabel,
If not thine celestial worth
Yet a maiden loving well,
Yet a perfect child of Earth.

If mutter'd spell, or magic wand
Were mine for one brief hour,
And it were blameless to command
With supernatural power,
The treasures of the land and air,
Each wonder and each splendour there,
I would twine a wreath for thee
Half of stars and half of flowers,
And the latter should not be
Cull'd from amaranthine bowers,
But grove and garden mead and field,
A fitlier tribute should bestow,
And emblematic honours yield
To decorate thy brow.
Thy twin perfections thus exprest,
The human love, the saintly rest,
The heart to God and virtue given,
Yet faithful to a lowly hearth,
At once a glory for high Heaven,
A blessing to the hearth,
The world should then acknowledge thine
A soul all other souls above
According by a law divine
It's [sic] worship and its love.