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.