And doth the fruit of her dishonour reap.
And all the day heaven gathers back her tears
Into her own blue eyes so clear and deep,
And showering down the glory of lightsome day,
Smiles on the earth's worn brow to win her if she may.
XIII
Love and Sorrow
O maiden, fresher than the first green leaf
With which the fearful springtide flecks the lea,