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Poem by Elinor Wylie


My locks are shorn for sorrow 
Of love which may not be; 
Tomorrow and tomorrow 
Are plotting cruelty.

The winter wind tangles 
These ringlets half-grown, 
The sun sprays with spangles 
And rays like his own.

Oh, quieter and colder 
Is the stream; he will wait; 
When my curls touch my shoulder 
He will comb them straight.

Elinor Wylie

Elinor Wylie's other poems:
  1. MadmanТs Song
  2. Primavera in the North
  3. Parting Gift
  4. Curious Circumstance
  5. The Lost Path

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