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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Locket of Hair</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Bright crispéd threads of pure translucent gold!<br>Ye who were wont with zephyr's breath to play,<br>Over the warm cheek and ivory forehead stray,<br>Or clasp her neck in many an amorous fold,<br>Now, motionless, in this little shrine must hold:<br>No more to wanton in the eye of day;<br>Or to the breeze your changeful hues display:<br>For ever still inanimate, and cold.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115084" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Poor, poor last relic of an angel's face!<br>Sad setting ray;--no more thy orb is seen!<br>O beauty's pattern, miracle of grace;<br>Must this be all that tells what thou hast been!--<br>Come then, cold crystal, on this bosom lie<br>Till love and grief and fond remembrance die!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Brooke+Boothby">Brooke Boothby</a></strong></div>

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