She was all in white--as white as new-fallen snow; and her face was as white as her dress, but not like snow, for at once it suggested warmth.

I thought her features were perfect, but her eyes made me forget them.

The life of her face and her whole person was gathered and concentrated in her eyes, where it became light.

It might have been coming death that made her face luminous, but the eyes had life in them for a nation--large, and dark with a darkness ever deepening as I gazed.

A whole night-heaven lay condensed in each pupil; all the stars were in its blackness, and flashed; while round it for a horizon lay coiled an iris of the eternal twilight.