I watched the Lady Caroline
 Bind up her dark and beauteous hair;
 Her face was rosy in the glass,
 And 'twixt the coils her hand would pass,
 White in the candleshine.

 Her bottles on the table lay,
 Stoppered, yet sweet of violet;
 Her image in the mirror stooped
 To view those locks as lightly looped
 As cherry-boughs in May.

 The snowy night lay dim without,
 I heard the Waits their sweet song sing;
 The window smouldered keen with frost;
 Yet still she twisted, sleeked and tossed
 Her beauteous hair about.