Poem by Elinor Wylie

Ophelia

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.

1. The Pekingese
2. In Our Content, before the Autumn Came
3. Upon Your Heart, Which Is.the Heart of All
4. Absent Thee from Felicity Awhile
5. The Broken Man

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