See warders at each windlass, every rusty chain a-cry;
See a ponderous portcullis rise, a drawbridge downward fly.
Perchance some summer morning and with no one on the wall,
The warders may get orders and the drawbridge swiftly fall.
A wingless one may be the first to stumble on the scene
And vision earth and heaven, with a rustic bridge between.
LOVE
Now Marjory is seven years,