Her eyes grown big; his lips on fire.
Down Frognal Lane to Fortune Green—
There parted, by a watery moon.
His heart went throbbing “Might have been,”
But hers a-trembling “Not too soon.”
VI
At Jack Straw’s Castle, streaks of yellow light
Pour from the bar upon a preacher’s head
Who howls unheeded warnings to the night:
Two p’licemen say he ought to be in bed.