FASTEN your hair with a golden pin,    
And bind up every wandering tress;    
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:    
It worked at them, day out, day in,    
Building a sorrowful loveliness      
Out of the battles of old times.    
You need but lift a pearl-pale hand,    
And bind up your long hair and sigh;    
And all men’s hearts must burn and beat;    
And candle-like foam on the dim sand,    
And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky,    
Live but to light your passing feet.

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