 | Poems |  |
96
CHANGE.
That raven tress unbraided
Enshrined from where it flew,
I wonder has it faded,
Since when she proved untrue?
I cannot choose the anguish
Of seeing it anew,
Of knowing if it languish,
And match my own in hue.
Enshrined from where it flew,
I wonder has it faded,
Since when she proved untrue?
I cannot choose the anguish
Of seeing it anew,
Of knowing if it languish,
And match my own in hue.
For grey has thickly sprinkled
The locks upon my brow,
And that, which was unwrinkled,
Is scored with sorrow's plough.
My features would not strike her,
As like my portrait now;—
But her heart is far unlike her,
The one that heard my vow!
The locks upon my brow,
And that, which was unwrinkled,
Is scored with sorrow's plough.
My features would not strike her,
As like my portrait now;—
But her heart is far unlike her,
The one that heard my vow!
| Poems | |