Walter de la Mare
I watched the Lady Caroline
Bind up her beauteous hair.
Her face was rosy in the glass,
And, ‘twixt the coils, her hands would pass,
White in the candleshine.
Her bottles on the table lay,
Stoppered, yet sweet of violet;
Her image in the mirror stooped
To view those locks as lightly looped
As cherry boughs in May.
The snowy night lay dim without,
I heard the Waits their sweet song sing;
The window smouldered keen with frost;
Yet still she twisted, sleeked and tossed
Her beauteous hair about.