Gle, ide lijepa kao noc kraja
       Zvjezdanog neba, vedrih klima,
Sve najljepse od mraka i sjaja
       U liku svom i oku ima,
Umeksanom svjetlom raja,
       Sto od neba ga dan ne prima.

Tek sjena jaca, manje zraka -
       I slabi slast neiskazana
U valu njenih uvojaka,
       I blaga svjetlost, licu dana,
Gdje kaze slatka miso svaka
       Svu draz, cistocu svoga stana.

S tog obraza i ceda snjezna
       - Sto tiho je, a rijec ne gubi -
Smijesci zbore i boja njezna,
       Da njenu proslost blagost rubi,
Da ne zna duh njen zemnih ceznja,
       A srce njeno cisto ljubi.

She walks in beauty, like the night
       Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
       Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
       Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
       Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
       Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
       How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
       So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
       But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
       A heart whose love is innocent!

George Gordon Lord Byron

(1788 - 1824)

George Gordon Lord Byron