“HOW RICH THAT FOREHEAD’S CALM EXPANSE”
HOW rich that forehead’s calm expanse! How bright that heaven-directed glance! –Waft her to glory, winged Powers, Ere sorrow be renewed, And intercourse with mortal hours Bring back a humbler mood! So looked Cecilia when she drew An Angel from his station; So looked; not ceasing to pursue Her tuneful adoration! 10 But hand and voice alike are still; No sound ‘here’ sweeps away the will That gave it birth: in service meek One upright arm sustains the cheek, And one across the bosom lies– That rose, and now forgets to rise, Subdued by breathless harmonies Of meditative feeling; Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies, Through the pure light of female eyes, 20 Their sanctity revealing! 1824.