She Walks in Beauty
A woman crossing a room is likened to the night of cloudless climes and starry skies, all that is best of dark and bright meeting in her aspect and her eyes. One shade the more, one ray the less, would have half impaired the nameless grace of raven tresses over a brow so soft and calm. Byron wrote it the morning after seeing a cousin by marriage at an evening party in a black mourning gown spangled with jet.
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