Robert Mapplethorpe - Prime

She Walks in Beauty
By Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all thats best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender 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 oer her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and oer 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!

At the height of your beauty, at your most beautiful, you are compared to Nature: the mystery, the awe, the sheer aesthetic bliss of your essence. I remember my prime. When I felt indestructible and the world was in my palm, ready for me to mold, mock, break.