There be none of Beauty's daughters
Lord Byron, 1816

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 charméd ocean's pausing,
     The waves lie still and gleaming,
     And the lull'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
     To listen and adore thee;
     With a full but soft emotion,
     Like the swell of Summer's ocean.