To Amarantha
That she would dishevel her hair
AMARANTHA, sweet and fair,Ah, braid no more that shining hair!As my curious hand or eyeHovering round thee, let it fly.
Let it fly as unconfinedAs its calm ravisher the wind,Who hath left his darling, th’ east,To wanton in that spicy nest.
Every tress must be confessed;But neatly tangled at the best;Like a clew of golden threadMost excellently ravelled.
Do not, then, wind up that lightIn ribands, and o’er cloud in night,Like the sun in ’s early ray;But shake your head and scatter day.