78
poems.
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.
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.
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.
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 bright
She took this curl of dark brown hair,
And tied with ribbon white.
And from her brow so bright
She took this curl of dark brown hair,
And tied with ribbon white.
