Till the red fire on its glazed windows spread
To a yellow haze?
Otti. Ah—my sign was, the sun
Inflamed the sere side of yon chestnut-tree
Nipped by the first frost.
Seb. You would always laugh
At my wet boots: I had to stride through grass
Over my ankles.
Otti. Then our crowning night!
Seb. The July night?