Maxioms by William Dean Howells
The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about read more
The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about her eyes,--
A mystery of mysteries.
So he must often pause, and stoop,
An all the wanton ringlets loop
Behind her dainty ear--emprise
Of slow event and many sighs.
