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.
1.7k
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.
1788 - 1824/Male/English