II.

With irised eyes, from morn to noon. And noon to middle night she stoops From her high lattice 'neath the moon, Hoping to see him 'mid the groups Of mail-swathed braves come jingling by. And once there came a dame in weft All pearl besprent, as when the sky A springtide day hath wept and left A stormy eve one flash of gems. "'Mid neatherds he's a naked waif Unwitted," said she, lipping scorn: And shook deep curls with a weak laugh Tib clinked the gold thick in them worn.