Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace Secret joys and secret smiles Little pretty infant wiles
William Wordsworth
Admonition to a Traveler - 1807
The roses to the porch which they entwine Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day On which it should be touched would melt away
Lord Byron
She Walks in Beauty - 1814
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.