Poetry Archives

Bind up, bind up your dark bright hair
  And hide the smouldering sunken fire.
Let it be held no more than fair,
Nor yourself guess how rare, how rare
  Its movement, colour and deep fire.

Your eyes they have their consciousness,
  Your lips their grave reflective smile,
Your hands their cunning for distress:
Your hair has only beauteousness
  And hid flame for its only guile.

That glowing hair on shoulders white
  Is pride past sum: take care, take care!
Even to dream of wish’d delight
Too much perturbs the ebb of night—
  Bind up, bind up your burning hair!