AMARANTHA sweet and fair, 
Ah, braid no more that shining hair! 
As my curious hand or eye 
Hovering round thee, 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!