What dawn-pulse at the heart of heaven, or last <br />Incarnate flower of culminating day,— <br />What marshalled marvels on the skirts of May, <br />Or song full-quired, sweet June's encomiast; <br />What glory of change by Nature's hand amass'd <br />Can vie with all those moods of varying grace <br />Which o'er one loveliest woman's form and face <br />Within this hour, within this room, have pass'd? <br />Love's very vesture and elect disguise <br />Was each fine movement,—wonder new-begot <br />Of lily or swan or swan-stemmed galiot; <br />Joy to his sight who now the sadlier sighs, <br />Parted again; and sorrow yet for eyes <br />Unborn, that read these words and saw her not.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xvii-beauty-s-pageant/
