The Ecstasy Of The Hair
I’D send a troop of kisses to entangle
And lose themselves in labyrinths of hair,—
Thy deep dark night of hair with stars to spangle,
And each, a firefly’s tiny lamp, to dangle
Amid the tresses of that forest fair.
A perfume seems to blossom into air;
The ecstasy that hangs about the tresses,
Their blush, their overflow, their breath, their bloom;
A wind that gently lifts them and caresses,
And wings itself and floats about the room;
The beauty that the flame of youth expresses,
A tender fire, too tender to consume,
Which, seizing all my soul, pervades, possesses,
And mingleth in a subtly sweet perfume.
George Barlow.