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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.
Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the
gold
Used to hang and brush their read more
Dear, dead women, with such hair, too--what's become of all the
gold
Used to hang and brush their bosoms?
An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,
And fell adown his shoulders with losse care.
An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,
And fell adown his shoulders with losse care.
Prejudice is like a hair across your cheek. You can't see it, you can't find it with your fingers, but read more
Prejudice is like a hair across your cheek. You can't see it, you can't find it with your fingers, but you keep brushing at it because the feel of it is irritating.
We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.
We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.
Hair is the first thing. And teeth the second. Hair and teeth. A man got those two things he's got read more
Hair is the first thing. And teeth the second. Hair and teeth. A man got those two things he's got it all.
It is foolish to pluck out one's hair for sorrow, as if grief
could be assuaged by baldness.
read more
It is foolish to pluck out one's hair for sorrow, as if grief
could be assuaged by baldness.
[Lat., Stultum est in luctu capillum sibi evellere, quasi calvito
maeror levaretur.]
His head,
Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er,
Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth,
read more
His head,
Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er,
Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth,
But strong for service still, and unimpair'd.
