The gate shut out my harmless question—Hair
So young and yellow, crowning sanctity,
And claiming solitude ... can hair be false?
"Shut in the hair and with it your last hope,
Yellow might on inspection pass for Red!—
Red, Red, where is the tinge of promised Red
In this old tale of town and country life,
This rise and progress of a family?
First comes the bustling man of enterprise,
The fortune-founding father, rightly rough,