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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;