To Mrs. Henry Siddons

O lady! thou, who in the olden time Hadst been the star of many a poet's dream! Thou, who unto a mind of mould sublime, Weddest the gentle graces that beseem Fair woman's best! forgive the daring line That falters forth thy praise! nor let thine eye Glance o'er the vain attempt too scornfully; But, as thou read'st, think what a love was mine, That made me venture on a theme, that none Can know thee, and not feel a hopeless one. Thou art most fair, though sorrow's chastening wing Hath past, and left its shadow on thy brow. And solemn thoughts are gently mellowing The splendour of thy beauty's summer now. Thou art most fair! but thine is loveliness That dwells not only on the lip, or eye; Thy beauty, is thy pure heart's holiness; Thy grace, thy lofty spirit's majesty. While thus I gaze on thee, and watch thee glide, Like some calm spirit o'er life's troubled stream, With thy twin buds of beauty by thy side Together blossoming; I almost deem That I behold the loveliness and truth, That like fair visions hovered round my youth, Long sought—and then forgotten as a dream.