[Silently she's combing,]

Silently she's combing,
  Combing her long hair
Silently and graciously,
  With many a pretty air.

The sun is in the willow leaves
  And on the dapplled grass,
And still she's combing her long hair
  Before the looking-glass.

I pray you, cease to comb out,
  Comb out your long hair,
For I have heard of witchery
  Under a pretty air,

That makes as one thing to the lover
  Staying and going hence,
All fair, with many a pretty air
  And many a negligence.

Published in Chamber Music

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