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The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
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Text for Page 191

              [newspaper clipping]
                      Jeanette�s Hair.

�Oh, loosen the curls that you wear, Jeanette.
Let me tangle my hand in your hair, my pet,�
For the world to me had no dainter sight
Than your brown hair veiling your shoulders white

It was brown with a golden gloss, Jeanette,
It was finer than the silk of the floss, my pet,
�Twas a beautiful mist falling down to your wrist.
�Twas a thing to be braided and jeweled and kissed,
�Twas the loveliest hair in the world, my pet.

My arm was the arm of a clown, Jeanette,
It was sinewy, bristled and brown, my pet,
But warmly and softly it loved to caress
Your round white neck and your wealth of tress,
Your beautiful plenty of hair, my pet.

Your eyes had a swimming flory, Jeanette,
Revealing the old, dear story, my pet;
They were gray with the chastened tinge of the sky
When the trout leaps quickest to snap the fly,
And they matched with your golden hair, my pet.

Your lips � but I have no words, Jeanette,
They were fresh as the twitter of birds, my pet,
When the Spring is young, and the roses are wet
With the dew-drops in each red bosom set,
And they suited your gold-brown hair, my pet.

Oh, you tangled my life in your hair, Jeanette,
�Twas a silken and golden snare, my pet,
But so gentle the bondage, my soul did implore
The right to continue your slave evermore,
With my fingers enmeshed in your hair, my pet.

Thus ever I dream what you were, Jeanette,
With your lips and your eyes and your hair, my pet,
In the darkness of desolate years I moan,
And my tears fall bitterly over the stone
That covers your golden hair, my pet.
                                                           Miles O�Reilley.

[Gunn�s handwriting]
(Halpine.)               
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