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.