IN the house of my own father, In the house of my own mother, I used to comb you, O ruddy tresses, Amidst the oaks afield. I used to wash you, O ruddy tresses, In fountain water cool. I used to dry you, O ruddy tresses, On the steep red steps in front of the house, In the rosy light of the rising sun. But now in that unknown, far-off land, In the house of my husband's father, In the house of my husband's mother, I shall have to comb you, O ruddy tresses, Within a curtained recess. I shall have to wash you, O ruddy tresses, In the wave of my bitter tears. I shall have to dry you, O ruddy tresses, In the longing of my grief. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHTINGALE; A CONVERSATION POEM by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELSA WERTMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN THE GOLD ROOM by OSCAR WILDE CASTLES IN THE AIR by JAMES BALLANTYNE |