She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. Byron's celebration of the dusky beauty speaks to me now. Dusk reminds me, too, of the echoes of a peacock in the early evening of a southern forest as night silently approached. The crisp winter skies were ablaze with stars and there lay Orion in its fiery glory and the Milky Way stretched its wispy trails of across the sky. I wish I’d reached out heavenwards then. Sweet fire of love For you I'd steal the stars 'Cause I adore you, o my morena My thoughts on an Appalachian hillside in summer are well reflected in John Dowlands descriptive All the earth, all the air Of love and pleasure speaks, Teach thine arms then to embrace, And sweet rosy lips to kiss, And mix our souls in mutual bliss. On this day I celebrate you Scarlett, and raise a toast to a woman of unparalleled passion, beauty, grace, wit and intellect. Happy Birthday to my Portuguese.