"I said she was lovelier than ever. She is. A fine rose, not deep but delicate, opens on her cheek. Her eye, always dark, clear, and speaking, utters now a language I cannot render; it is the utterance, seen not heard, through which angels must have communed when there was 'silence in heaven.' Her hair was always dusk as night and fine as silk, her neck was always fair, flexible, polished; but both have now a new charm. The tresses are soft as shadow, the shoulders they fall on wear a goddess grace. Once I only _saw_ her beauty, now I _feel_ it.

"I said she was lovelier than ever. She is. A delicate rose opens on her cheek. Her eye, always dark and clear, speaks now as angels must have communed when there was 'silence in heaven.' Her hair is soft as shadow; the shoulders they fall on wear a goddess grace. Once I only saw her beauty, but now I feel it.
