Upon My Hairs Falling

Few and easy in your stay, Never curl'd, and hardly grey; Hairs, adieu! tho' falling all, Blameless, harmless, may you fall. Light and trifling tho' you be, More deserving poetry Than the dream of guilty power, Than the miser's gather'd ore, Than the world's most serious things, Murdering victors, haughty kings, If your moral fall presage Death, the certain end of age, If a single hint you give, Well to die, and soon to live.