Lord Byron
For Music
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters   
With a magic like thee;   
And like music on the waters   
Is thy sweet voice to me:   
When, as if its sound were causing  
The charmèd ocean's pausing,   
The waves lie still and gleaming,   
And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:   
  
And the midnight moon is weaving   
Her bright chain o'er the deep;  
Whose breast is gently heaving,   
As an infant's asleep:   
So the spirit bows before thee,   
To listen and adore thee;   
With a full but soft emotion,   
Like the swell of Summer's ocean.