And in her cheeks, the rose of maidenhood
Red as round berries winter bushes dot
The dimpled drift with under loaded boughs.
She knew him not, or seemed to; or forgot
To speak his name whenas she looked at him
And, blushing, welcomed.
And they sat and talked
Until the night waxed late. And as they talked
He marked that hunger had made hollow haunts
Of all their eyes; and so he longed to ask,