  A head of golden hair, With many a silken fold; A face as beautiful as e’er Was wrought in human mould; An eye as blue as ever Italia’s skies can be, That shone as stars of heaven In soul-lit purity; A form that tranced the vision; A matchless, perfect grace Of a life all pure and God-like Lighting the sweet, fair face; A voice as low and silv’ry As flutes at eventime, Or trill of harps Æolian, Tender and so divine; A head of golden hair, Haunting my soul alway, In the silent hours of dreamland, Or blaze of noontide day. Yet vain are all thy dreamings, O heart! A year ago We laid that head so golden Under the daisies low. |
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