Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright，
Whose mortal lineaments seem all refined
By favouring Nature and a saintly Mind
To something purer and more exquisite
Than flesh and blood；whene’er thou meet’st my sight，
When I behold thy blanched unwithered cheek，
Thy temples fringed with locks of gleaming white，
And head that droops because the soul is meek，
Thee with the welcome Snowdrop I compare；
That child of winter，prompting thoughts that climb
From desolation toward the genial prime➁；
Or with the Moon conquering earth’s misty air，
And filling more and more with crystal light
As pensive Evening deepens into night.