A Recollection.

Let me for once describe her—once,—for she1
(Julia) hath passed into my memory2
As ’ twere some angel image, and there clings3
Like music round the harp’s Æolian strings :4
A word—a breath—revives her, and she stands5
As beautiful, and young, and free from care6
As when upon the Tyber’s yellow sands7
She loosen’d to the winds her yellow hair,8
In almost childhood, and in pastime run,9
Like young Aurora from the morning sun.10
Oh ! never was a form so delicate11
Fashion’d in dream or story, to create12
Wonder or love in man. I cannot tell13
Half of the charms I saw—I see—but well14
Each one becomes her. She was very fair15
And young, I said ; and her thick tresses were16
Of the bright colour of the light of day :17
Her eyes were like the dove’s—like Hebe’s—or18
The maiden-moon, or star-light seen afar,19
Or like—some eyes I know, but may not say.20
Never were kisses gather’d from such lips,21
And not the honey which the wild bee sips22
From flowers that on the thymy mountains grow23
Hard by Ilissus, half so rich : —her brow24
Was darker than her hair, and arch’d, and fine ;25
And sunny smiles would often, often shine26
Over a mouth, from which came sounds more sweet27
Than dying winds, or waters when they meet28
Gently, and seem telling and talking o’er29
The silence they so long had kept before.30