The Tresses

“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!”