There was a girl, named tanglepate,
She lived--I won't say where--
Who was not willing any one
Should comb or curl her hair.
She cried and made a dreadful fuss,
At morning, noon, or night,
And did not seem at all ashamed
Of looking like a fright.
Her hair stood out around her head
Just like a lion's mane,
And she was scolded, coaxed, and teased
About it--but in vain.
It caught on buttons, hooks, and boughs
As here and there she rushed,
And yet she would not consent
To have it combed or brushed.
And so she fell asleep one day
Within the woods, and there
Two birdies came and built a nest
Amid her tangled hair.