John Hamilton Reynolds

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Sweet poets of the gentle antique line,
That made the hue of beauty all eterne;
And gave earth's melodies a silver turn, --
Where did you steal your art so right divine? --
Sweetly ye memoried every golden twine
Of your ladies' tresses: -- teach me how to spurn
Death's lone decaying and oblivion stern
From the sweet forehead of a lady mine.

The golden clusters of enamouring hair
Glow'd in poetic pictures sweetly well; --
Why should not tresses dusk, that are so fair
On the live brow, have an eternal spell
In poesy? -- dark eyes are dearer far
Than orbs that mock the hyacinthine-bell.