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A 100$. OF HAIR, A little ripglet of goldea hair, 4s soft as the youpg njoon's ray; 0,1 treasure it still frith a doting care, For alas! it was all that death could spare Of the wealth that he bore away. It was culled from a garden of sunny curls, That blossomed around her head. When the cold cold dew was upon her lips, And her eyes were closed in the Dark Eclipse, And her last '*good night" was said. I picture her still thro' the mist of years, In the Jight of the stars above; And bright o'er the cload and the storm of tears, This ringlet of soft golden hair appears A rainbow of hope and lpve. Thames Advertiser. B.A.S.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/HBT18710104.2.10
Bibliographic details
Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 17, Issue 908, 4 January 1871, Page 2
Word Count
124Select Poetry. Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 17, Issue 908, 4 January 1871, Page 2
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