To A Lock Of Hair

Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright     As in that well-rememberd night     When first thy mystic braid was wove,     And first my Agnes whisperd love.     Since then how often hast thou prest     The torrid zone of this wild breast,     Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell     With the first sin that peopled hell;     A breast whose bloods a troubled ocean,     Each throb the earthquakes wild commotion!     O if such clime thou canst endure     Yet keep thy hue unstaind and pure,     What conquest oer each erring thought     Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!     I had not wanderd far and wide     With such an angel for my guide;     Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me     If she had lived and lived to love me.     Not then this worlds wild joys had been     To me one savage hunting scene,     My sole delight the headlong race     And frantic hurry of the chase;     To start, pursue, and bring to bay,     Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey,     Then, from the carcass turn away!     Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,     And soothed each wound which pride inflamed:     Yes, God and man might now approve me     If thou hadst lived and lived to love me!