Monday, June 7, 2010

Black Hair

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair

Lean on a garden urn

Weave, weave, weave the sunlight in your hair

Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise

Fling them to the ground and turn

With fugitive resentment in your eyes:

But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

(from "La Figlia Che Piange" by T.S. Elliot)

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