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Elinor Wylie
1885-1928

"Ophelia"
From
"Nets to Catch the Wind"
1921

 
My locks are shorn for sorrow
     Of love which may not be;
Tomorrow and tomorrow
     Are plotting cruelty.

The winter wind tangles
     These ringlets half-grown,
The sun sprays with spangles
     And rays like his own.

Oh, quieter and colder
     Is the stream; he will wait;
When my curls touch my shoulder
     He will comb them straight.

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