Curly Locks

Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?     Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine, -     But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,     And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.     Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?     The throb of my heart is in every line,     And the pulse of a passion as airy and glad     In its musical beat as the little Prince had!     Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine! -     O I'll dapple thy hands with these kisses of mine     Till the pink of the nail of each finger shall be     As a little pet blush in full blossom for me.     But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,     And thou shalt have fabric as fair as a dream, -     The red of my veins, and the white of my love,     And the gold of my joy for the braiding thereof.     And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream     From a service of silver, with jewels agleam, -     At thy feet will I bide, at thy beck will I rise,     And twinkle my soul in the night of thine eyes!     Curly Locks! Curly Locks! wilt thou be mine?     Thou shalt not wash the dishes, nor yet feed the swine. -     But sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,     And feast upon strawberries, sugar and cream.