TO A LOCK OF HAIR.

Thou'st played upon that cheek full oft, Thou shining tress of golden hair! And wreathed thy curl in dalliance soft Around that neck so dazzling fair: Whence hast thou caught that amber gleam, Soft as a fading autumn-sky? Part from the sun's enamoured beam, Part from that full refulgent eye.

I fear thou'dst murmur, couldst thou speak, And curse the fate that bade thee part From thy bright home, a lady's cheek, E'en to be pillow'd on my heart: And I would give, thou wavy tress! To thee earth's warmest, purest breast, If thou in turn my lot wouldst bless, And give to me thy place of rest. Not Zephyr's breath could woo like me, Nor sunbeams there so warmly play; Nor wander o'er that cheek so free, Those wanton curls in sportive play.