Each morning, as the day begins,
Her hair is sunlight to my eyes,
Each morning, as a new day wins
The changeful skies.
In silken mist the tresses wind
And float about her hair, while my hands
With loving care each day unbind
The yellow strands.
And then a dancing cloud of gold
Plays all around my darling's face.
Each morning while the days still hold
My hour of grace.
And lightly, from my finger tips
The sadness I no more can stay,
Into the golden glory slips
And dies away.
