Sonnet LXXXI. On A Lock Of Miss Sarah Seward's Hair Who Died In Her Twentieth Year.

My Angel Sister, tho' thy lovely form
Perish'd in Youth's gay morning, yet is mine
This precious Ringlet! - still the soft hairs shine,
Still glow the nut-brown tints, all bright and warm
With sunny gleam! - Alas! each kindred charm
Vanish'd long since; deep in the silent shrine
Wither'd to shapeless Dust! - and of their grace
Memory alone retains the faithful trace. -
Dear Lock, had thy sweet Owner liv'd, ere now
Time on her brow had faded thee! - My care
Screen'd from the sun and dew thy golden glow;
And thus her early beauty dost thou wear,
Thou all of that fair Frame my love cou'd save
From the resistless ravage of the GRAVE!