Her hair hung down below her knee,
Though loop'd with orient pearl;
He pray'd her of her courtesy
To give him one dark curl.
"Mid friend and foe, mid weal and wo,
This soft braid I'll retain;
And lady's favour, for thy sake,
I'll never wear again."
She would not let him see her tears—
A time would come to weep:
Alas for young and wasted years
That one remembrance keep!
Ah! soon grief wears away the rose
From any youthful cheek,
And soon the weary eyes will close
Which hope not what they seek:
When dreams bring that loved face by night
We never see by day,
Then the heart sickens at the light,
And the look turns away.
There are some roses droop and die,
While others bloom so fair—
Gone with their first and sweetest sigh:
So was it with Gulnare.
Alas! the Earth hides many flowers
Within her silent breast;
But could she not have spared us ours—
Our dearest and our best?
