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 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.