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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383900" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XVIII</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=383900" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I never gave a lock of hair away<br>To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,<br>Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully,<br>I ring out to the full brown length and say<br>' Take it.' My day of youth went yesterday;<br>My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,<br>Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,<br>As girls do, any more: it only may<br>Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,<br>Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside<br>Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears<br>Would take this first, but Love is justified,--<br>Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,<br>The kiss my mother left here when she died.</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=Elizabeth+Barrett+Browning">Elizabeth Barrett Browning</a></strong></div>

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