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For Music. Lord Byron

THERE be none of Beauty′s daughters
With a magic like thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean′s pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull′d winds seem dreaming:

And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o′er the deep;
Whose breast is gently heaving,
As an infant′s asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee,
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer′s ocean.

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