TO THE COUNTESS HELÉNE ZAVADOWSKY. <br /> <br />WHEN our young Queen put on her rightful crown <br />In Gothic Westminster's long-hallow'd walls, <br />The eye upon no lovelier sight look'd down <br />Than thou, fair Russian! Memory still recalls <br />The soft light of thy sapphire-colour'd eyes, <br />The rich twine of thy simply-braided hair, <br />And the low murmur of the crowd's surprise <br />To see thee pass along so strangely fair. <br />Nor didst thou charm by looks and smiles alone,-- <br />Thy 'broken English' had its share of grace; <br />For something in thy accent and thy tone <br />So match'd the beauty of thy gentle face, <br />We seem'd to hear our old familiar words <br />Set to some foreign lute or harp's melodious chords!<br /><br />Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-ix-7/
