1   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 charmed Ocean’s pausing,   The waves lie still and gleaming,   And the lulled winds seem dreaming: 2   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.