LOVE-LOCKS

I.
In Arcady's fair groves there dwells
A Wizard, and 'tis there he sells
All sorts of cunning beauty spells,

From snow-white skins to blushes
For pretty girls are scented toys;
Young men can buy Pomade Longroise;
There's hair-dye for the gay old boys,
And ivory-backed brushes.

II.
There beauty's tresses are unfurled,
There blonde moustachios are twirled,
And darlings who have curls are curled.

While those who've none buy plenty
The Wizard keeps the key, 'tis true.
To turn grey locks to raven hue,
And makes bald coots of sixty-two
Become smart youths of twenty.

III.
My hair is getting thin, and so
To Arcady I sometimes go
In search of balm, for you must know

I hold Dum sfiro, spero:
Though washes of all sorts I've tried.
And countless ointments have applied.
Old Time has made my parting wide,
And sunk my hopes to zero.

IV.
The other day it came to pass,
I sat me down before the glass,
And saw reflected there, alas!

A face grown old and jaded:
That face was scored by lines of care,
The forehead was quite high and bare;
For, strange to say, the thick brown hair
Of other days had faded!

V.
Ah, how that face has changed since times
Long passed away, when at 'The Limes'
My laughter rang with midnight chimes -

My song was gay and early!
Then hearts were hearts, and blue were skies,
And tender were sweet Lucy's eyes -
When I believed in woman's sighs,
My locks were thick and curly!

VI.
As Mr. Wizard snips and snips,
I think of Lucy's laughing lips,
And whilst he just takes off the tips,

I muse on bygone pleasures:
At home I have a tiny tress
Of soft brown hair; I must confess,
Although it caused me much distress,
Tis treasured 'mid my treasures.

VII.
Ah, would that night come back again
When she took from her chatelaine
Her scissors! - it was not in vain.

I hear her laugh the while her
Fingers, dimpled soft and fair,
Thrill as she clips one lock of hair;
While I, like Samson, sit still there.
And smile on sweet Delilah.

VIII.
When blonde and brown locks interlace,
Or scented tresses sweep your face,
While laughter, unto sighs gives place,

And pouting lips are present;
Or meek grey eyes droop still more meek.
And dimples play at hide-and-seek,
There's but one language lips can speak -
Tis brief, but rather pleasant!

IX.
In place of Lucy's hand I feel
The chilly touch of Wizard's steel,
Who brings me back from the ideal,

By talk of lime-juice water;
And beauty's fingers no more hold
My locks — they're by the barber sold
To stuff arm-chairs; sometimes, I'm told,
They're used to mix with mortar!

X.
And Lucy? She's at Bangalore,
And married to old Colonel Bore;
They say she flirts from ten to four -

Indeed, I do not doubt them.
'Tis hard to steer among the rocks
Of life, without some awkward knocks;
They say that 'Love laughs loud at locks'-
He howls at those without them!