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.