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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.
Gray hair is a sign of age, not of wisdom.
Gray hair is a sign of age, not of wisdom.
She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,
Can draw you to her with a single hair.
She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,
Can draw you to her with a single hair.
But she is vanish'd to her shady home
Under the deep, inscrutable; and there
Weeps in a read more
But she is vanish'd to her shady home
Under the deep, inscrutable; and there
Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair.
Tresses, that wear
Jewels, but to declare
How much themselves more precious are.
Tresses, that wear
Jewels, but to declare
How much themselves more precious are.
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.
It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less with baldness.
It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less with baldness.
