“When the air was damp
It made my curls hang slack
As they kissed my neck and back
While I footed the salt-aired track
I loved to tramp.

“When it was dry
They would roll up crisp and tight
As I went on in the light
Of the sun, which my own sprite
Seemed to outvie.

“Now I am old;
And have not one gay curl
As I had when a girl
For dampness to unfurl
Or sun uphold!”