Whether she loosely curls her golden hair,
or whether in two shining waves it drifts
and idles on her breasts, now here, now there,
while, sporting round her neck, it rests and lifts;
or whether she has taken pains to braid
her tresses, and the knot she’s fastened tight
to hold them is expensively inlaid
with pearls and rubies: blonde is my delight.
Her hairstyles are my miracle, my joy:
the way she tucks her locks above her ear,
she could be Venus, till I shut my eyes
and open them again, and here’s a boy…
Adonis in a cap? It isn’t clear.
Such beauty in ambiguous disguise!
