I’ve sung of Honor’s golden hair <br />And Hero’s auburn tresses, <br />Of Bella’s back abundance, where <br />The sun throws his caresses; <br />I’ve sung of curl, and coil, and braid; <br />On meshes I’ve dilated, <br />Until at last I’m sore afraid <br />There’s nothing re the hair of maid <br />That I have left unstated. <br /> <br />‘Twill much relieve the constant strain <br />Of rhyming to extol her <br />When on the roof of Sophie’s brain <br />Appears a bright cupola. <br />The poet’s verse will freshly run, <br />Effects will come much faster, <br />If he may tell the darling one <br />Her skull is glowing like the sun <br />And smooth as alabaster. <br /> <br />New stimulus the singer nerves, <br />When beauty, scorning switches, <br />Adds to her many swelling curves <br />A baldness that bewitches. <br />We’ve sung too many wigs, I swear, <br />And now the poet mocks myths, <br />For Juliet in her head of air <br />Outshines the moon, and everywhere, <br />Love really laughs at locksmiths.<br /><br />Edward George Dyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-beauty-is-bald/
