FIRST time we met I saw her not: 't was night; But fancy read her lovely spirit right: Soft as the dark her voice That made my lonely heart rejoice. When next we met, or ere I heard her speak My fancy fared afar her like to seek: Where had I seen that face -- In Reynolds' or in Romney's grace? And when she spoke -- most like a morning child Waking to wonder -- how her spirit smiled! Then voice and face were one: Music and Art in unison. |