XVIII <br /> <br />I never gave a lock of hair away <br />To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, <br />Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully, <br />I ring out to the full brown length and say <br />'Take it.' My day of youth went yesterday; <br />My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee, <br />Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree, <br />As girls do, any more: it only may <br />Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears, <br />Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside <br />Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears <br />Would take this first, but Love is justified,— <br />Take it thou,—finding pure, from all those years, <br />The kiss my mother left here when she died.<br /><br />Elizabeth Barrett Browning<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-18-i-never-gave-a-lock-of-hair-away/
