  Since the days of primal story Of Eden's happy pair, A woman's greatest glory Is her glossy flowing hair; It is a safe criterion By which to judge her life, To ascertain, if duly won, She'd prove a worthy wife. Its color and arrangement, Its sunshine and its storm Prefigure an estrangement, Or friendship true and warm. We dearly love the sunshine Of locks with golden hue, That bear this blessed combine— Kind, tender, warm, and true. We read volumes of character In every lock of hair; The life, the mind, the heart's prefer Are plainly written there; No printed index could portray The soul's environment, So plainly and so perfectly As capillary bent. Beware the frouzy, unkempt lock That speaks of negligence; Regard cosmetic's fancy stock Of little consequence; Trust only such as speak of taste Born of a cultured mind, Whose purposes are pure and chaste Whose structure, soft, refined. A thoughtful mind may lessons draw From faded leaf or broken straw; May beauty see in some lone star That cheers the storm-tossed mariner; May note in solitude some sound Wherein soft harmonies abound; May hear no voice from human lip; Yet dwell in blest companionship. |
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