Within her tender eye
The heaven of April, with its changing light.
_The Spirit of Poetry_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Her two blue windows faintly she up-heaveth,
Like the fair sun, when in his fresh array
He cheers the morn, and all the earth relieveth;
And as the bright sun glorifies the sky,
So is her face illumined with her eye.
_Venus and Adonis_. SHAKESPEARE.

Blue eyes shimmer with angel glances,
Like spring violets over the lea.
_October's Song_. C.F. WOOLSON.

The harvest of a quiet eye,
That broods and sleeps OH his own heart.
_A Poet Epitaph_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Stabbed with a white wench's black eye.
_Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Sometimes from her eyes
I did receive fair speechless messages.
_Merchant of Venice, Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

For where is any author in the world
Teaches such beauty as a woman's eye?
_Love's Labor's Lost, Act iv. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,
Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.
_Beppo_. LORD BYRON.

The fringed curtains of thine eye advance.
_The Tempest, Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Alas! how little can a moment show
Of an eye where feeling plays
In ten thousand dewy rays;
A face o'er which a thousand shadows go.
_The Triad_. W. WORDSWORTH.

FACE.

There's no art
To find the mind's construction in the face.
_Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 4_. SHAKESPEARE.

Your face, my thane, is a book where men
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time.
_Macbeth, Act i. Sc 5_. SHAKESPEARE.

Her face so faire, as flesh it seemed not,
But heavenly pourtraict of bright angels' hew,
Cleare as the skye withouten blame or blot,
Through goodly mixture of complexion's dew.
_Faerie Queene, Canto III_. E. SPENSER.

The light upon her face
Shines from the windows of another world.
Saints only have such faces.
_Michael Angelo_. H.W. LONGFELLOW.

Oh! could you view the melody
Of every grace,
And music of her face.
_Orpheus to Beasts_. R. LOVELACE.

A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.
_Hamlet, Act i. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

In each cheek appears a pretty dimple;
Love made those hollows; if himself were slain,
He might be buried in a tomb so simple;
Foreknowing well, if there he came to lie,
Why, there Love lived and there he cou