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Walter Scott - To a Lock of Hair
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Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright  
As in that well-remember’d night  
When first thy mystic braid was wove,  
And first my Agnes whisper’d love.  
  
Since then how often hast thou prest      
The torrid zone of this wild breast,  
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell  
With the first sin that peopled hell;  
A breast whose blood’s a troubled ocean,  
Each throb the earthquake’s wild commotion!          
O if such clime thou canst endure  
Yet keep thy hue unstain’d and pure,  
What conquest o’er each erring thought  
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!  
I had not wander’d far and wide         
With such an angel for my guide;  
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me  
If she had lived and lived to love me.  
  
Not then this world’s wild joys had been  
To me one savage hunting scene,          
My sole delight the headlong race  
And frantic hurry of the chase;  
To start, pursue, and bring to bay,  
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey,  
Then—from the carcass turn away!         
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,  
And soothed each wound which pride inflamed:—  
Yes, God and man might now approve me  
If thou hadst lived and lived to love me!
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