Lord Byron wrote his poetry in the early 1800s. He was well educated and well known during his life - but he died before age 40.

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 etender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more one ray the less,
Had half impaired the 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!

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