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THE SILVER LOCKS; TO JOHN FOULKES, ESQ., by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Though youth may boast the curls that flow
Last Line: His mildest ray!
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Aging; Hair


THOUGH youth may boast the curls that flow,
In sunny waves of auburn glow;
As graceful on thy hoary head,
Has time the robe of honour spread,
And there, oh! softly, softly, shed,
His wreath of snow.

As frost-work on the trees displayed,
When weeping Flora leaves the shade,
E'en more than Flora, charms the sight;
E'en so thy locks, of purest white,
Survive, in age's frost-work bright,
Youth's vernal rose decayed.

To grace the nymph, whose tresses play
Light on the sportive breeze of May,
Let other bards the garland twine,
Where sweets of every hue combine;
Those locks revered, that silvery shine,
Invite my lay.

Less white the summer-cloud sublime,
Less white the winter's fringing rime;
Nor do Belinda's lovelier seem,
(A poet's blest, immortal theme,)
Than thine, which wear the moonlight beam,
Of reverend time!

Long may the graceful honours smile,
Like moss on some declining pile;
Oh, much revered! may filial care,
Around thee, duteous, long repair,
Thy joys with tender bliss to share,
Thy pains beguile!

Long, long, ye snowy ringlets, wave,
Long, long, your much-loved beauty save;
May bliss your latest evening crown,
Disarm life's winter of its frown,
And soft, ye hoary hairs, go down,
In gladness to the grave.

And as the parting beams of day,
On mountain-snows reflected play;
And tints of roseate lustre shed;
Thus, on the snow that crowns thy head,
May joy, with evening planet, shed
His mildest ray!





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