I never gave a lock of hair away 
To a man, dearest, except this to thee, 
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully, 
I ring out to the full brown length and say 
Take it. My day of youth went yesterday; 
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee, 
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree, 
As girls do, any more: it only may 
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears, 
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside 
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears 
Would take this first, but Love is justified,-- 
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years, 
The kiss my mother left here when she died.