Then closer we packed to the postern portal
Horses and all in the stinging snow.
Stiff with the cold was I.—Immortal
Minutes we waited breath-bated and listened
Shuddering there in the gusty gale.
Whizzing o'er parapets sifted and glistened
Wild drift, thro' battlements hissed in a veil.
Quoth my lord Sir Hugh, for his love was a-heat,
"She feels for the spring in the hidden panel
'Neath the tapestry ... ah! thou hast pressed it, sweet!