Just like scarlet-runners,—
Love, sure, they had won hers,
If at the beginning had been but for fun hers.
At the top it was low,
That her neck it might show,
As white as a turnip or two-days'-back snow.
Then her rather red face
embedded in lace,
With large green rosette, garnished to heighten each grace.
But a bright crimson shawl