It was a long, long time ago, Since I was at my mother's knee -- Trying in vain on my tipped toe To stand as tall as she could sit. 'Your cousin,' said my mother to me, 'Was the loveliest girl in Pontypool, Or through the Rhondda Valley; still The girls would look at her sweet face, As though there were no boys; for she Had heaps of hair which, when combed down, Could be a coat, or half a gown. Until one day when full of joy, To hear my baby coo so well, She tossed that hair, and its full weight Breaking her slender neck -- she fell. Your cousin died -- to end our story -- Killed by a thing that was her glory.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SPELLIN' BEE by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 12 by OMAR KHAYYAM |