THE FARM-HOUSE.
The Lady.
The sun is setting, we have passed the mill
Some time; the house is near Waunona Hill,
But the road smooth this way—which doth account
For the discrepancy of names. The gleam
Of the low sun shines out beneath that mass
Of purple thunder-cloud; when we surmount
This little swell of land, its slanting beam
Will light up all the lances of the grass,
The steely hue, the blue of the Blue Grass.
. . . . . . . . . .
That is the house off on the right; I know
By intuition.
The Maiden.
It may hold—the worst!
The Lady.
Art faint?
The Maiden.
’Twill pass. Lady, I enter first—
First and alone!
The Lady.