Page:Carroll - Three Sunsets.djvu/63

ONLY A WOMAN'S HAIR. Veiling, beneath a cloud of golden mist,
 * Flushed cheek and laughing eyes—

Or fringing, like a shadow, raven-black,
 * The glory of a queen-like face—

Or from a gipsy's sunny brow tossed back
 * In wild and wanton grace—

Or crown-like on the hoary head of Age,
 * Whose tale of life is well-nigh told—

Or, last, in dreams I make my pilgrimage
 * To Bethany of old.

I see the feast—the purple and the gold—
 * The gathering crowd of Pharisees,

Whose scornful eyes are centred to behold
 * Yon woman on her knees.

The stifled sob rings strangely on mine ears,
 * Wrung from the depth of sin's despair:

And still she bathes the sacred feet with tears,
 * And wipes them with her hair.

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