Page:Poems Welby.djvu/83

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75
Her death, the dawn, the blushing hour,
That opes the gate of heaven.

A single tress! how slight a thing
To sway such magic art,
And bid each soft remembrance spring
Like blossoms in the heart!
It leads me back to days of old,
To her I loved so long,
Whose locks outshone pellucid gold,
Whose lips o'erflowed with song.

Since then I've heard a thousand lays
From lips as sweet as hers,
Yet when I strove to give them praise,
I only gave them tears;
I could not bear, amid the throng
Where jest and laughter rung,
To hear another sing the song,
That trembled on her tongue.

A single shining tress of hair
To bid such memories start!
But tears are on its lustre—there
I lay it on my heart:
O! when in Death's cold arms I sink,
Who then, with gentle care,
Will keep for me a dark-brown link—
A ringlet of my hair?