XXIVSilently she’s combing,Combing her long hair,Silently and graciously,With many a pretty air.The sun is in the willow leavesAnd on the dappled grass,And still she’s combing her long hairBefore the looking-glass.I pray you, cease to comb out,Comb out your long hair,For I have heard of witcheryUnder a pretty air,That makes as one thing to the loverStaying and going hence,All fair, with many a pretty airAnd many a negligence.
Silently she’s combing,Combing her long hair,Silently and graciously,With many a pretty air.The sun is in the willow leavesAnd on the dappled grass,And still she’s combing her long hairBefore the looking-glass.I pray you, cease to comb out,Comb out your long hair,For I have heard of witcheryUnder a pretty air,That makes as one thing to the loverStaying and going hence,All fair, with many a pretty airAnd many a negligence.