Fasten your hair with a golden pin,

And bind up every wandering tress;

I bade my heart build these poor rhymes;

It worked at them, day out, day in,

Building a sorrowful loveliness

Out of the battles of old times.

You need but lift a pearl-pale han,

And bind up your long hair and sigh;

And all men’s hearts must burn and beat;

And candle-like foam on the dim sand;

And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky,Live but to light your passing feet. /TTkoYCeMXwhBbQFjabECe22gUsZ4KzsS95zw4C3uCcKkLT926oreTnfOMnjIU/W