Bright daughter of the Sunbeam, latest born,
How beautiful! how deiicately fair,
And like new life, thy soft creations are;
As Nature’s second and more perfect dawn,
In lines by thy invisble pencil drawn,
Starts into being, even as if it were
Itself its own creator! Man may share
Non glory with thee, for thy power doth scorn
The utmost pride and greatness of his art;
And the rude touch of his unpracticed hand
Not one more beauty can to thine impart,
Or make thy living forms more chastely
In full perfection, all thy features start
Bound with their mirrored light, by thy mystery band.
