Edgar Allan Poe: Master of the macabre… and romance?
Twill be pleasinger to you, I am sure, to tell you how fond I am of your lock.
Well, in earnest now, and setting aside all compliment, I never saw finer hair, nor of a better colour; but cut no more on’t, I would not have it spoiled for the world.
If you love me, be careful on’t.
I am combing, and curling, and kissing this lock all day, and dreaming on’t all night.
The ring, too, is very well, only a little of the biggest.
Send me a tortoise-shell one to keep it on, that is a little less than that I sent for a pattern.
I would not have the rule absolutely true without exception that hard hairs are ill natured, for then I should be so.
But I can allow that all soft hairs are good, and so are you, or I am deceived as much as you are if you think I do not love you enough.
Tell me, my dearest, am I? You will not be if you think I am