High grace, the dower of queens; and therewithal 
   Some wood-born wonder's sweet simplicity; 
   A glance like water brimming with the sky 
Or hyacinth-light where forest-shadows fall; 
Such thrilling pallor of cheek as doth enthral 
   The heart; a mouth whose passionate forms imply 
   All music and all silence held thereby; 
Deep golden locks, her sovereign coronal; 
A round reared neck, meet column of Love's shrine 
   To cling to when the heart takes sanctuary; 
   Hands which for ever at Love's bidding be, 
And soft-stirred feet still answering to his sign:--- 
These are her gifts, as tongue may tell them o'er. 
Breathe low her name, my soul; for that means more.