RICHARD LOVELACE
555 To Amarantha, that she would dishevel her Hair
A MARANTHA sweet and fair, JT\ Ah, braid no more that shining hair' As my curious hand or eye Hovering round thce, let it fly!
Let it fly as unconfined As its calm ravisher the wind, Who hath left his darling, th' East, To wanton o'er that spicy nest.
Every tress must be confest, But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clew of golden thread Most excellently ravelled.
Do not then wind up that light
In ribbands, and o'ercloud in night,
Like the Sun in 's early ray,
But shake your head, and scatter day!
��The Grasshopper
OTHOU that swing'st upon the waving hair Of some well-filled oaten beard, Drunk every night with a delicious tear
Dropt thee from heaven, where thou wert rear'd!
The joys of earth and air are thine entire,
That with thy feet and wings dost hop and fly;
And when thy poppy works, thou dost retire To thy carved acorn-bed to lie.
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