Hair Grow

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Fasten your hair with a golden pin,
And bind up every wandering tress;
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:
It worked at them, day out, day in,
Building a sorrowful loveliness
Out of the battles of old times.
—William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)

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Tomorrow let loveless, let lover tomorrow make love;
O spring, singing spring, spring of the world renew!
In spring lovers consent and the birds marry
When the grove receives in her hair the nuptial dew.
—Allen Tate (1899–1979)