by William Wordsworth
She was a phantom of delight
when first she gleam’d upon my sight;
a lovely apparition sent to be a moment’s ornament;
her eyes as stars of twilight fair; like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
but all things else about her drawn from May-time and the cheerful dawn;
a dancing shape, an image gay, to haunt, to startle, and waylay.