Amarantha, sweet and fair, 
Forbear to braid 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 has left his darling the East 
To wanton o'er this spicy nest.

Every tress must be confessed, 
But neatly tangled at the best,
Like a clew of golden thread 
Most excellently ravellèd.

Do not then wind up that light 
In ribbons, and o'ercloud in night,
Like the sun in's early ray,
But shake your head and scatter day.