The grass grew proud beneath her feet,
The green elm-leaves above her:—
Meet we no angels, Pansie?
She said, “We meet no angels now;”
And soft lights stream’d upon her;
And with white hand she touch’d a bough;
She did it that great honour:—
What! meet no angels, Pansie?
O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes,
Down-dropp’d brown eyes, so tender!