"She walks in beauty" (first stanza)
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 the tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
— Lord Byron, 1814.
I can't sleep. I'm listening to "The Stone Dance of the Cameleon" by Celtic harpist Phamie Gow (whose wikipedia entry was deleted for being "insignificant").