Poem by George Gordon Byron

A Woman's Hair

Oh! little lock of golden hue
In gently waving ringlet curl'd,
By the dear head on which you grew,
I would not lose you for a world.

Not though a thousand more adorn
The polished brow where once you shone,
Like rays which guild a cloudless sky
Beneath Columbia's fervid zone.

1. The Spell Is Broke, the Charm Is Flown!
2. To Florence
3. Churchill’s Grave
4. On a Change of Masters at a Great Public School
5. To the Earl of Clare

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