:: she walks in beauty ::

she walks in beauty, like the night

of cloudless climes and starry skies;

and all that’s best of dark and bright

meet in her aspect and her eyes:

thus mellowed to that tender light

which heaven to gaudy day denies.

one shade the more, one ray the less

had half impaired that nameless grace

which waves in every raven tress,

or softly lightens o’er her face;

where thoughts serenely sweet express,

how pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

and on that cheek, and o’er that brow, 

so soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

the smiles that win, the tints that glow,

but tell of days in goodness spent,

a mind at peace with all below, 

a heart whose love is innocent!

well...

I...

hm...

         … all this space is me trying to think how to express my love for this poem in a delicate way, without thoroughly destroying its effect. (probably the only way for me to do that is to have you go back and read it every time there’s a paragraph break.) to cover this whole wonderful piece in a single post would be a superhuman achievement. I have too many thoughts on the first stanza to do that, so instead you’ll be getting approximately three posts (though I might combine II and III. but we’ll see). 

        I. love. this. poem.
without getting too technical -- the worst thing you can do when discussing poetry -- lord byron’s meter and rhyme scheme are nothing less than perfectly, gloriously wrought. she walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies… but good poetry wouldn’t be good poetry without it (walt whitman fans, I’ll get to you eventually) and I couldn’t bring myself to overlook it. 
without horrendously stressing each beat (example: “she WALKS in BEAUty LIKE the NIGHT” -- okay, okay, that hurts!! you get the picture, anyway) lightly stress every other syllable in your mind. then read it softly out loud without meter at all. if it helps, copy + paste the poem into a blank document and make it regular sentences. now read it.

*pauses in anticipation of your rapturous silence after completion* 

he writes in beauty, doesn’t he?

        it really doesn’t have to do with byron’s skill at using the physical words, but with his amazing descriptions -- and think about what pictures come to mind while reading … just the first stanza.

        consider his use of dark and light. her beauty is “like the night”, yet not dark (“of…starry skies”). the best “of dark and bright” are in her face -- which is further compared to moonlight, the “tender light” that only shines in darkness. her perfection wouldn’t be perfection with any darker shade or any “ray the less”. her hair is dark (“every raven tress”), but her face is bright, not only in comparison to her hair, but in expressing her innocence and purity. that innocence and purity are a light all on their own: they shine through in her face -- “the smiles that win, the tints that glow” -- and show that she, in contrast to…  something…, has a heart that loves free from any taint of uncleanness. 

        byron praises her superficial beauty; at a deeper level, he is contrasting her bright, shining purity to the sordid world he is so accustomed to. the day is described as garishly, startlingly bright, as if byron recognizes his unworthiness in the face of perfection -- the open brightness of day. but she isn’t the harsh exposer of his blots; she is to him a ‘light shining out of darkness’ (a william cowper poem, if you’re interested). she is that “tender light which Heaven to gaudy day denies”: the moonlight which sheds a luster much softer than that of the sun. this description illuminates her character even more, I think (no pun intended). it makes her gentler, shining compared to her dark surroundings; all the more beautiful for that contrast, but without the harshness of stark sunshine. 

in his sonnet ‘with how sad steps, o moon’, sir philip sydney speaks to the moon as if it commiserates with his lovesick state; here, byron reverences ‘her’ (some say a cousin, by marriage, whom he met at a ball) as a more distant moon – something to adore, but something so far from his reach he can only love her for the light she sheds around him.