Though it had been to his grief.
“I have come up from the valley,—
From the valley!” Once he caught her,
Swerving down a sidelong alley,
For a moment, by the hand.
“Tell me, tell me,” he besought her,
“Sweetest, I would understand
Why so cold thy palm, that slips
From me like the shy cold minnow?
The wood is warm, and smells of fern,