DEAR, O desolate bright head!
O drooping mouth and shaken chin!
How could I ever lock you in?
They were too harsh, the words I said.
Should I have only smiled, instead,
At one small funny childish sin?
Already my regrets begin.
What would I do if you were dead?
Yet there is wonder in that place,
And I could show you, did I dare,
How to throw back your tangled hair,
And in a round, mysterious place,
Looking upon your mirrored face,
Find comfort in the beauty there.