Classic Poem

This tress of hair my sweetheart sent to me,
And so I bent above it tenderly
And kissed the dainty bow
That bound the wisp of sunshine, thrilled forsooth,
Because her lips had nestled there — in truth,
She told me so.

And I remember, reading that, the flush
That fevered all my face, and the heart's hush
And hurry in my ears;
And how the letter trembled and grew blurred
Until my eyes could read no other word —
For happy tears.

This tress of hair! Why, I did hug and hold
It here against my heart, and call it gold
With Heaven's own luster lit;
And I did stroke and smooth its gleaming strands,
And pet and fondle it with foolish hands,
And talk to it!

And now I pray God's blessing may alight
Upon the orange flowers she wears tonight.
Her features — keep them fair,
Dear Lord, but let her lips not quite forget
The love they kindled once is gilding yet
This tress of hair.