And from the towers came snatch of song and many a ruddy shout.
Elizabeth was there above, among her maiden band,
Spinning the new-cut wool to warm the naked of her land.
(O serving queen, I honor thee—queen of a day gone down,
Who carried dimly in thy heart the meaning of the crown!)
And now the steward gave a sign, and on the frosty moats
The sceptered heralds blew again their crisp and crinkling notes.
There fell a momentary hush upon the corridors;
Then stir of feet, then whisper of silk gowns across the floors
Came onward like the tumult of white barley in the breeze;