Poems (Brown)/The Curl of Hair
THE CURL OF HAIR.
'Tis a little curl of dark-brown hair, Tied with a ribbon white,Which makes my heartstrings throb and beat, And tears bedim my sight.
Three years ago,—I mark it well,— We stood in the arbor old,And there I pressed her dimpled hand, And there my love I told.
I rehearsed to her my dreams of fame, I told my wishes gay,And asked of her a token dear, To carry far away.
She smiled; her eyes were filled with tears, And from her brow so brightShe took this curl of dark brown hair, And tied with ribbon white.
Three years have slowly passed away, And I wander still aloneNo hope beams on my weary soul, No beacon lights my home.
I found my heart's best treasure false; Her love had passed away,As shadows vanish from the hills Just at the close of day.
The smile that used to deck her face Has changed to sober pride;And as she walks in the gloaming old, A stranger's by her side.
I wonder much she could forget Her plighted love to me,And how my face would beam with smiles At her merry voice of glee.
But I have proved the maiden false: Another calls her wife;Another shields her from the ills That strew the path of life.
Ah! lovely curl of dark-brown hue, How fast my tear-drops fall,How fast my heartstrings beat and throb As I these scenes recall!
Then vanish from my painful sight, Thou vision of face so fair;For ye bring to my bosom a chilling blight, Thou curl of dark-brown hair.