'Dear one, dear Anna.' 'O my lovely boy,
Life is all golden to the finger tips.
What will be must be: but to-day's a joy.
Reach me that lovely branch of scarlet hips.'
He reached and gave; she put it to her lips.
'And here,' she said, 'we come to Plaister Turns.'
And then she chose the road to Shepherd Ern's.
As the deft angler, when the fishes rise,
Flicks on the broadening circle over each
The delicatest touch of dropping flies,