But on their cloaks spread on the ground,
In storms and northwest snows as sound
As if on daisied meads instead.
A horse-shoe they could press together,
And never in the wildest weather
Approached the hearthstone’s crackling light,
But warmed themselves with shot,[B] each one,
As red as when the rayless sun
Goes down in blood some winter’s night.
The rule was when in strife exposed