Sonnet. to Genevra

Thine eyes' blue tenderness, thy long fair hair, And the warm lustre of thy features--caught From contemplation--where serenely wrought, Seems Sorrow's softness charmed from its despair-- Have thrown such speaking sadness in thine air, That--but I know thy blessed bosom fraught With mines of unalloyed and stainless thought-- I should have deemed thee doomed to earthly care. With such an aspect, by his colours blent, When from his beauty-breathing pencil born, (Except that thou hast nothing to repent) The Magdalen of Guido saw the morn-- Such seem'st thou--but how much more excellent! With nought Remorse can claim--nor Virtue scorn.