“When the air was damp

It made my curls hang slack

As they kissed my neck and back

While I footed the salt-aired track

   I loved to tramp.

   “When it was dry

They would roll up crisp and tight

As I went on in the light

Of the sun, which my own sprite

   Seemed to outvie.

   “Now I am old;

And have not one gay curl

As I had when a girl

For dampness to unfurl

   Or sun uphold!”