AMARANTHA sweet and fair, Ah, braid no more 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 hath left his darling, th' East, To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

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

Do not then wind up that light In ribbands, and o'ercloud in night, Like the Sun in 's early ray; But shake your head, and scatter day!