Dead metal that for ever strives to hold
The ever-straying wonder of live gold!
Like woodland pools, her eyes, a dreaming brown--
Like woodland pools where autumn-splendours drown!
O red-gold tresses, shaking in the gloam,
Unto your light, unto your shade I come!
GARLAND: Her eyes are azure as the wind-blown sea,
With deep sea-shadowings of grey and green;
And like an April storm her shining hair--
Yea, all the glittering Aprils that have been,