Classic Poem

What constitutes a handsome face?
The secret would you know
That gives the brow its softest grace,
The cheek its purest glow?

'Tis not the eye of liquid light,
The timid or the bold,
The winter's ice may be more bright
And yet not half so cold.

'Tis not the hair like raven's plume,
With gems amid its jet;
The midnight hath a richer gloom
With brighter jewels set.

'Tis not the lip, so fresh and full
With life's own rosy hue;
The bud may be more beautiful
And far more fragrant too.

'Tis not the voice, whose music brings
A brighter charm than all,
For echo's voice as sweetly rings
Through some deserted hall.

The seraph smile of sweet content,
The sunshine of the soul, —
This is the charm most eloquent
That beautifies the whole.

And when its winning graces cling
To such a brow as thine,
Each sorrow is a sacred thing,
Each smile indeed divine.