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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447603" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Nizam’s Daughter</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">SHE is yet a child in years, <br>Twelve springs are on her face,<br>Yet in her slender form appears<br>The woman's perfect grace.<br>Her silken hair, that glossy black,<br>But only to be found<br>There, or upon the raven's back,<br>Falls sweeping to the ground.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis parted in two shining braids<br>With silver and with gold,<br>And one large pearl by contrast aids<br>The darkness of each fold.<br>And for she is so young, that flowers<br>Seem natural to her now,<br>There wreaths the champac's snowy showers<br>Around her sculptured brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Close to her throat the silvery vest<br>By shining clasps is bound,<br>Scarce may her graceful shape be guest,<br>Mid drapery floating round.<br>But the small curve of that veined throat,<br>Like marble, but more warm,<br>The fairy foot and hand denote<br>How perfect is the form.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Upon the ankle and the wrist<br>There is a band of gold,<br>No step by Grecian fountain kiss'd,<br>Was of diviner mould.<br>In the bright girdle round her waist,<br>Where the red rubies shine,<br>The kandjar's glittering hilt is placed, <br>To mark her royal line.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her face is like the moonlight pale,<br>Strangely and purely fair,<br>For never summer sun nor gale<br>Has touched the softness there.<br>There are no colours of the rose,<br>Alone the lip is red;<br>No blush disturbs the sweet repose<br>Which o'er that cheek is shed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet the large black eyes, like night,<br>Have passion and have power;<br>Within their sleepy depths is light<br>For some wild wakening hour.<br>A world of sad and tender dreams<br>'Neath those long lashes sleep,<br>A native pensiveness that seems<br>Too still and sweet to weep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of such seclusion know we nought:<br>Yet surely woman here<br>Grows shrouded from all common thought,<br>More delicate and dear.<br>And love, thus made a thing apart,<br>Must seem the more divine,<br>When the sweet temple of the heart<br>Is a thrice-veiled shrine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Letitia+Elizabeth+Landon">Letitia Elizabeth Landon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447603" data-title="The Nizam’s Daughter de Letitia Elizabeth Landon" data-description="SHE is yet a child in years, 
Twelve springs are on her face,
Yet in her slender form appears
The woman's perfect grace.
Her silken hair, that glossy black,
But only to be found
There, or upon the raven's back,
Falls sweeping to the ground.

'Tis ..."></div>
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