Volume 5 / Book 11 — FROM GOLD TO GRAY.

Golden curls, profusely shed O'er the lovely childish head— Sunshine, caught from summer skies, Surely here entangled lies: Tossing to the light winds free, Radiant clusters, what are ye? Types of Time that ripples now In bright wavelets o'er the brow— Of the hopes and feelings blest Dancing in the guileless breast, Beautiful in their unrest: Sparkling joys and willing faith Rising to love's lightest breath;— Of the future, seeming fair, That may darken with the hair. What are ye, dark waving bands That, beneath the maiden's hands, Sweep around her graceful head? Fold o'er fold of changeful shade Touch the cheek's contrasted bloom With the poetry of gloom. Offerings for a lover's eye; Emblems of Love's witchery, Round her heart that richly lies— Shadows, while it beautifies; Keepsakes Love delights to give. Did each friend one tress receive, Every shining tress were lost, For the maiden had a host. Ay! but trouble, stories say, Locks as rich hath worn away. What of this? But friends grew spare As the scant and falling hair! Wherefore send your pallid ray, Streaks of cold, untimely gray, Through the locks whose burnish'd hue Hath but seen of years a few? Autumn leaves on summer trees Were less sorrowful than these. Portions of life's travel-soil; Footprints left by Grief and Toil; Relics, too, of watchings late, When one curl was too much weight On the hot brows, bending o'er Some grave book of ancient lore. 'Tis the mourning Nature wears For the hopes of younger years; And the scorching breath of care Thus can fade the brightest hair. Hail to thee, thou glistening snow! Full of placid beauty, flow O'er the furrowed brows that bear Life's long story, written fair. 'Tis the white foam, cast aside After Time's receding tide. Yea, and pleasant types are ye Of each moonlight memory; Shining from his far-off prime To the old man's evening time. More—ye are reflections shed From the heaven above his head; Pale, but still assuring ray, Of his nearly risen day. Mortal! may thy hoary hair E'en such glorious meaning bear, That its silver threads may be Messengers of light to thee!