She was a Phantom of delight  
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;  
A lovely Apparition, sent  
To be a moment’s ornament:  
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;          
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;  
But all things else about her drawn  
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;  
A dancing shape, an image gay,  
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.   
  
I saw her upon nearer view,  
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!  
Her household motions light and free,  
And steps of virgin liberty;  
A countenance in which did meet   
Sweet records, promises as sweet;  
A creature not too bright or good  
For human nature’s daily food,  
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,  
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.   
  
And now I see with eye serene  
The very pulse of the machine;  
A being breathing thoughtful breath,  
A traveller between life and death:  
The reason firm, the temperate will,   
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;  
A perfect Woman, nobly plann’d  
To warn, to comfort, and command;  
And yet a Spirit still, and bright  
With something of an angel light.   

- Wordsworth is good…