Glamour of Gold
The white hands of my lady's maid
Move deftly through the shining hair!
How my heart falters half afraid
Lest they should hurt a thing so fair
As my sweet lady's head!
And how I wish that I stood there
Twisting the strands instead!
Move deftly through the shining hair!
How my heart falters half afraid
Lest they should hurt a thing so fair
As my sweet lady's head!
And how I wish that I stood there
Twisting the strands instead!
Fortunate fingers those, that hold
The handles of the steels that fret
And dent each heavy tress of gold . . .
Till all the golden mass is set
With waves bewildering,
Where fire and dusk together met
Rival day's sunsetting!
The handles of the steels that fret
And dent each heavy tress of gold . . .
Till all the golden mass is set
With waves bewildering,
Where fire and dusk together met
Rival day's sunsetting!
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