Their faces some concealed; and some looked wan;
Some even rose unconscious to their feet.
And in the rear the packed-in throng did strain;
Stood on tip-toe to better view the game.
Outside ’twas winter, and the snow lay deep;
The frost with icy style was tracing scenes
Upon the window panes in spite of heat
That rolled beyond the huge stove’s screens.
But still no cold was felt; forgot the clime;
Perhaps some mused that it was summertime.