by Hartley Coleridge
She is not fair to outward view
as many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew
until she smiled on me.
Oh, then I saw her eye was bright,
a well of love, a spring of light.
But now her looks are coy and cold,
to mine they ne'er reply
And, yet, I cease not to behold
the love-light in her eye.
Her very frowns are fairer far
than smiles of other maidens are.