To hang as twilight in the roof raftered with crookèd oak.
Up from the chimney log the notes of many woodlands sang;
Quick through the flame the colors of a hundred summers sprang.
The blaze threw on the arrased wall a gush of golden light,
Where hung Saint Stephen’s shield between two angels in still flight,
Forever moving upward toward the cherubs overhead,
Now sinking into shade and now breaking to rosy red.
A swinging door, a spicy smell, and beaming Hugolin
With smoking boar’s head lifted high came proudly panting in.
And as the sparkling feast went on the board began to stir