Across the doleful vacancy For many months it lay, One friendly lock that stayed by me When the others fell away. It hid the barren waste behind, And gave a sense of hair; It kept me in a youthful mind As long as it was there. Sarcastic barbers now and then Aspired to cut it off; But I withstood those merry men And met their fleering scoff. No impish breeze in all the sky Would leave it lying flat; A gallant red-plumed knight was I Whene'er I raised my hat. It would not keep its proper place; With ceaseless enterprise It straggled down my dismal face And tickled in my eyes. It never fooled a single soul Except the fool I am. For me, Time's waves that onward roll It held with hairy dam. But one by one the hairs grew less Upon my shining crown, And aye to fill the emptiness I parted further down. The merest wisp I learned to spread As far as it would go; It made upon my barren head A last, pathetic show. But now, ah, me! I cannot comb A single gallant hair; Time sits triumphant on the dome, My cranium is bare. The teeter-board of life has turned Upon its downward sweep; The hurrying years, so stoutly spurned, Now drag me to the deep. Perchance upon the other shore -- Sweet hope of dying men! -- I'll meet that faithful lock once more, And have my hair again! |