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It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette,
It was finer than silk of the floss, my pet;
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It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette,
It was finer than silk of the floss, my pet;
'Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist,
'Twas a thing to be braided, and jewelled, and kissed--
'Twas the loveliest hair in the world, my pet.
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.
When they told it unto David, he sent to meet them, because the
men were greatly ashamed: and the read more
When they told it unto David, he sent to meet them, because the
men were greatly ashamed: and the king said, Tarry at Jericho
until your beards be grown, and then return.
The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of
righteousness.
The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of
righteousness.
Beware of her fair hair, for she excels
All women in the magic of her locks;
And read more
Beware of her fair hair, for she excels
All women in the magic of her locks;
And when she winds them round a young man's neck,
She will not ever set him free again.
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.
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.
And from that luckless hour my tyrant fair
Has led and turned me by a single hair.
And from that luckless hour my tyrant fair
Has led and turned me by a single hair.
It is foolish to pluck out one's hair for sorrow, as if grief
could be assuaged by baldness.
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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.]