  Illustrated W Winifred, waking in the morning, Locks dishevelled, sighed, "Alas! Broken is the Venice-bodkin That you gave me—'twas of glass. All my auburn hair, henceforward, Shall be given to the wind." Ere the evening came, another's Net of pearl her hair confined. Frail as the Venetian bauble I had thrust in Winifred's hair; Lo! the net now snapped asunder, Other hands had fastened there. Ere the moon's wide-blossomed petals On the breast of night had died, Net and bodkin both deserted, Winifred's glittering hair flowed wide! woman standing next to window Silver comb and silken fillet Next in turn the wild hair bound, Till at length the crown of wifehood Clasped its bands that hair around,— Golden crown of Love! displacing Girlhood's vain adornments there. Winifred never more shall alter, Now, the fashion of her hair. decoration |
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