Beauty Unlooked For
Not sweeter was the breast of Venus white,
Or bloom of Helen, soft in Grecian air,
Or outpoured glory of the coal-black hair
That maddened Antony with fierce delight,
Than beauty bursting forth to sudden sight
Within our streets, and making fog-banks fair.
Not all our London dreariest mists impair
The glory of mist-piercing glances bright.
One may meet Daphne or a Grecian maid
By Thames, within some oak or beechen glade;
One may find Psyche 'mid the wild streets' roar:
Or, seeking not so pure and sweet a form,
Clasp suddenly the breast of Venus warm
Where silver ripples chime on English shore.
Or bloom of Helen, soft in Grecian air,
Or outpoured glory of the coal-black hair
That maddened Antony with fierce delight,
Than beauty bursting forth to sudden sight
Within our streets, and making fog-banks fair.
Not all our London dreariest mists impair
The glory of mist-piercing glances bright.
One may meet Daphne or a Grecian maid
By Thames, within some oak or beechen glade;
One may find Psyche 'mid the wild streets' roar:
Or, seeking not so pure and sweet a form,
Clasp suddenly the breast of Venus warm
Where silver ripples chime on English shore.
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