In the farmhouse kitchen were Nan and John, With only the sunflowers looking on.
A farmhouse kitchen is scarce the place For knight or lady of courtly grace.
But this is just an everyday pair That hold the kitchen this morning fair.
A saucy, persistent thorn-tree limb Had sacrificed a part of the brim
Of the youth's straw hat. His face was brown, And his well-shaped forehead wore a frown.
His boots were splashed with mud and clay From marshland pasture over the way.
Where alderbushes and spicewood grew, And frogs croaked noisily all night through.
'Neath muslin curtains, snowy and thin, The homely sunflowers nodded in.
Nan was a picture. Her muslin gown Had maybe a bit old-fashioned grown.
But fitted the slender shape so well. In its low-cut neck the soft lace fell.