Classic Poem

In a house between the sunrise and the sunset
In the twilight of a mighty house and old,
Sits a woman 'mid the treasuries of her tresses
Like the fountains of a living sea of gold,
And she weaves the golden legend of the ages
With the braids of her own tresses thereunto
And only with that tracery for the pages
Is the story ever old and ever new.
For the hair of a woman is her glory
It weaveth all of secret and renown
Through all chivalry and mystery and story
The glory of a woman and her crown.

When the giant limbs of Adam stirred primeval
From the sudden sleep that smote him on the hills
When the sparrows scattered at his vast upheaval
And his blinded gropings rent the daffodils
On his mighty twilight broke a windy splendour
Round eyes that were as suns upon his sleep
The burning halo passionate with colours
The leaping locks that call the heart to leap
For the hair of a woman is her glory
It weaveth all of secret and renown
Through all chivalry and mystery and story
The glory of a woman and her crown.

The sunshine of the Lord that crowns and quickens
The brows and breasts of all the lives that toil.
The cornfield of the Lord that nods and shimmers
The stirring of the splendour of the soil
The harp-strings of the Lord that ring and crackle
With the song of all the stars and their desire
The war-flame of the Lord, to scourge the Evil
The fangs thereof consuming as a fire
For the hair of a woman is her glory.
It weaveth all of secret and renown
Through all chivalry and mystery and story
The glory of a woman and her crown.