Keats

And she became companion of his thought; Silence her gentleness before him brought, Society her sense, reading her books, Music her voice, every sweet thing her looks, Which sometimes seemed, when he sat fixed awhile, To steal beneath his eyes with upward smile; And did he stroll into some lonely place, Under the trees, upon the thick soft grass, How charming, would he think, to see her here! How heightened then, and perfect would appear
The two divinest things this world has got, A lovely woman in a rural spot! The first few lines are skilfully modulated,