To Mrs. Henry Siddons

O lady! thou, who in the olden time
  Hadst been the star of many a poet's dream!
  Thou, who unto a mind of mould sublime,
  Weddest the gentle graces that beseem
  Fair woman's best! forgive the daring line
  That falters forth thy praise! nor let thine eye
  Glance o'er the vain attempt too scornfully;
  But, as thou read'st, think what a love was mine,
  That made me venture on a theme, that none
  Can know thee, and not feel a hopeless one.
  Thou art most fair, though sorrow's chastening wing
  Hath past, and left its shadow on thy brow.
  And solemn thoughts are gently mellowing
  The splendour of thy beauty's summer now.
  Thou art most fair! but thine is loveliness
  That dwells not only on the lip, or eye;
  Thy beauty, is thy pure heart's holiness;
  Thy grace, thy lofty spirit's majesty.
  While thus I gaze on thee, and watch thee glide,
  Like some calm spirit o'er life's troubled stream,
  With thy twin buds of beauty by thy side
  Together blossoming; I almost deem
  That I behold the loveliness and truth,
  That like fair visions hovered round my youth,
  Long sought—and then forgotten as a dream.