The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about read more

The little wind that hardly shook
The silver of the sleeping brook
Blew the gold hair about her eyes,--
A mystery of mysteries.
So he must often pause, and stoop,
An all the wanton ringlets loop
Behind her dainty ear--emprise
Of slow event and many sighs.

And yonder sits a maiden,
The fairest of the fair,
With gold in her garment glittering,
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And yonder sits a maiden,
The fairest of the fair,
With gold in her garment glittering,
And she combs her golden hair.

Beware of her fair hair, for she excels
All women in the magic of her locks;
And read more

Beware of her fair hair, for she excels
All women in the magic of her locks;
And when she winds them round a young man's neck,
She will not ever set him free again.

Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream's, like a meteor, to the troubled air.

Loose his beard, and hoary hair
Stream's, like a meteor, to the troubled air.

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of
righteousness.

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of
righteousness.

It is foolish to pluck out one's hair for sorrow, as if grief
could be assuaged by baldness.
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It is foolish to pluck out one's hair for sorrow, as if grief
could be assuaged by baldness.
[Lat., Stultum est in luctu capillum sibi evellere, quasi calvito
maeror levaretur.]

One hair of a woman can draw more than a hundred pair of oxen.

One hair of a woman can draw more than a hundred pair of oxen.

It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less with baldness.

It is foolish to tear one's hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less with baldness.

We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.

We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.