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. U5eEec/aX6/AH/acg2ALN6/nU5OVFj/9sg6auKJRLl7z5ayULchv3hi4fumqDlA4