Oh! little lock of golden hue In gently waving ringlet curl'd, By the dear head on which you grew, I would not lose you for _a world_. Not though a thousand more adorn The polished brow where once you shone, Like rays which guild a cloudless sky Beneath Columbia's fervid zone.
Public domain. Source: PoetryDB. Reproduced verbatim; see theanthology for the full collection.