I.
Year after year unto her feet,
 The while she slumbereth alone,
Over the purpled coverlet
 The maiden’s jetblack hair hath grown,
On either side her trancéd form
 Forthstreaming from a braid of pearl;
The slumbrous light is rich and warm,
 And moves not on the rounded curl.

II.
The silk starbraided coverlid
⁠Unto her limbs itself doth mould
Languidly ever, and amid
⁠Her full black ringlets downward rolled
Glows forth each softly-shadowed arm,
⁠With bracelets of the diamond bright;
Her constant beauty doth inform
⁠Stillness with love and day with light.

III.
She sleeps; her breathings are not heard
⁠In palacechambers far apart;
The fragrant tresses are not stirred
⁠That lie upon her charméd heart.
She sleeps; on either side upswells
⁠The goldfringed pillow lightly prest;
She sleeps, nor dreams, but ever dwells
⁠A perfect form in perfect rest.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson