Philip James Bailey (1816–1902)

I LOVED her for that she was beautiful;

And that to me she seem’d to be all Nature,

And all varieties of things in one:

Would set at night in clouds of tears, and rise

All light and laughter in the morning; fear

No petty customs nor appearances;

But think what others only dream’d about;

And say what others did but think; and do

What others did but say; and glory in

What others dared but do: so pure withal

In soul; in heart and act such conscious yet

Such perfect innocence, she made round her

A halo of delight. ’Twas these which won me;—

And that she never school’d within her breast

One thought or feeling, but gave holiday

To all; and that she made all even mine

In the communion of Love: and we

Grew like each other, for we loved each other;

She, mild and generous as the air in Spring;

And I, like Earth all budding out with love.