Hair

Her hair reminds of a warm, safe placeTo quietly pass me by.

— Hair

I find that the whiter my hair becomes the more ready people are to believe what I say.

— Hair

And from that luckless hour my tyrant fairHas led and turned me by a single hair.

— Hair

His hair stood upright like porcupine quills.

— Hair

Dear, dead women, with such hair, too—what's become of all the goldUsed to hang and brush their bosoms?

— Hair

And though it be a two-foot trout,'Tis with a single hair pulled out.

— Hair

Those curious locks so aptly twin'd,Whose every hair a soul doth bind.

— Hair

Within the midnight of her hair,Half-hidden in its deepest deeps.

— Hair

An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.

— Hair

His head,But strong for service still, and unimpair'd.

— Hair

Tresses, that wearHow much themselves more precious are.

— Hair

She knows her man, and when you rant and swear,Can draw you to her with a single hair.

— Hair

When you see fair hairBe pitiful.

— Hair

Bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.

— Hair

Beware of her fair hair, for she excelsShe will not ever set him free again.

— Hair

Loose his beard, and hoary hairStream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air.

— Hair

It was brown with a golden gloss, Janette,'Twas the loveliest hair in the world, my pet.

— Hair

And yonder sits a maiden, And she combs her golden hair.

— Hair

I pray thee let me and my fellow haveA hair of the dog that bit us last night.

— Hair

But she is vanish'd to her shady homeWeeps in a midnight made of her own hair.

— Hair

One hair of a woman can draw more than a hundred pair of oxen.

— Hair

The little wind that hardly shook Of slow event and many sighs.

— Hair

My mother bids me bind my hairWhile Rubin is away.

— Hair

Though time has touched it in his flight,And changed the auburn hair to white.

— Hair

Her cap of velvet could not holdAnd fell in masses down her neck.

— Hair

You manufacture, with the aid of unguents, a false head of hair, and your bald and dirty skull is covered with dyed locks. There is no need to have a hairdresser for your head. A sponge, Phæbus, would do the business better.

— Hair

The very hairs of your head are all numbered.

— Hair

Her head was bare;Sweet negligence, unheeded bait of love!

— Hair

Fair tresses man's imperial race insnare,And beauty draws us with a single hair.

— Hair

Hoary whiskers and a forky beard.

— Hair

Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hairAnd 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

— Hair

Ere on thy chin the springing beard beganTo spread a doubtful down, and promise man.

— Hair

The hoary beard is a crown of glory if it be found in the way of righteousness.

— Hair

Tarry at Jericho until your beards be grown.

— Hair

Golden hair, like sunlight streamingOn the marble of her shoulder.

— Hair

His hair is of a good colour.An excellent colour; your chestnut was ever the only colour.

— Hair

Thy knotted and combined locks to part,Like quills upon the fretful porpentine.

— Hair

And his chin new reap'd,Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home.

— Hair

How ill white hairs become a fool and jester!

— Hair

Comb down his hair; look, look! it stands upright.

— Hair

Bind up those tresses. O, what love I noteSticking together in calamity.

— Hair

And her sunny locksHang on her temples like a golden fleece.

— Hair

What a beard hast thou got! thou hast got more hair on thy chin than Dobbin my fill-horse has on his tail.

— Hair

Alas, poor chin! many a wart is richer.

— Hair

Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow:I'll get me such a colour'd periwig.

— Hair

Thy fair hair my heart enchained.

— Hair

Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre,Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre.

— Hair

Ah, thy beautiful hair! so was it once braided for me, for me;Now for death is it crowned, only for death, lover and lord of thee.

— Hair

But, rising up,To the open window moved.

— Hair

The Father of Heaven. Spin a tress for Viola.

— Hair

Come let me pluck that silver hair Has nothing, sure, to do with thee.

— Hair

Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves, Of Autumn corn are not more fair.

— Hair