God's hand had made her face surpassing fair:
In love had lingered over every line.
Its purity made Passion kneel in prayer;
The starry eyes beneath the midnight hair
Shone with a glory that was half divine.

Men, gazing, fancied that an aureole
Circled the whiteness of her perfect brow;
And a new discontent was in their soul,
For something holy from her presence stole,
Drawing them nearer God, they knew not how.