Her yellow tresses take the morn,
Like silken tassels of the corn,
And yet brown-locks are far from bad.
Pilgrim. Now I bethink me this one had
A figure like the willow tree
Which, slight and supple, wondrously
Inclines to droop with pensive grace,
And still retain its proper place.
A foot so arched and very small
The marvel was she walked at all;