Such Age How Beautiful! O Lady Bright, Whose Mortal Lineaments Seem All Refined By Favouring Nature And A Saintly Mind To Something Purer And More Exquisite Than Flesh And Blood; WheNe'er Thou Meet'St My Sight, When I Behold Thy Blanched Unwithered Cheek, Thy Temples Fringed With Locks Of Gleaming White, And Head That Droops Because The Soul Is Meek, Thee With The Welcome Snowdrop I Compare; That Child Of Winter, Prompting Thoughts That Climb From Desolation Toward The Genial Prime; Or With The Moon Conquering Earth'S Misty Air, And Filling More And More With Crystal Light As Pensive Evening Deepens Into Night.