Page:Improvisatrice.pdf/112

It was a face!—the summer day
      Is not more radiant in its light!
Dark flashing eyes, like the deep stars
      Lighting the azure brow of night;
A blush like sunrise o'er the rose;
      A cloud of raven hair, whose shade
Was sweet as evening's, and whose curls
      Clustered beneath a laurel braid.
She leant upon a harp:—one hand
     Wandered, like snow, amid the chords;
The lips were opening with such life,
     You almost heard the silvery words.
She looked a form of light and life,—
     All soul, all passion, and all fire;
A priestess of Apollo's, when
     The morning beams fall on her lyre;