Wind up your hair!
See, on the marble parapet
The faint red stains with tears are wet;
The long years pass, no help comes yet
To free my golden hair.
For leagues and leagues I rode,
Till hot my armour grew,
Till underneath the leaves
I felt the evening dew.
Weep through your hair!
And yet—but I am growing old,
For want of love my heart is cold,
Years pass, the while I loose and fold
The fathoms of my hair.
The Prince, in the morning
I have heard tales of men, who in the night
Saw paths of stars let down to earth from heaven,
Who follow'd them until they reach'd the light
Wherein they dwell, whose sins are all forgiven;