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By Nature's hand, though all
Was made complete,
Still in her palace-hall
No twinkling feet,
Nor graceful figure tall,
Nor smile that's sweet,
Had yet obeyed her call.


And so she racked her brain,
And gathered flowers--
White lilies from the plain,
And from the bowers
Roses--and from the main
Cosmetic powers;
From birds, their sweetest strain.


Combining these, she wrought
A perfect charm;
And gave it grace and thought,
Brilliant yet calm;
When man the vision caught
In his strong arm,
And claimed it--as he ought!


And blessed his happy lot,
Which now made earth
An Eden--every spot--
Since Beauty's birth;
Whose smile still cheers his cot,
His home and hearth;
An angel--is she not?